


By The Light

by Lycanthrope



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-05
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-03 02:51:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 52
Words: 278,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/376283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lycanthrope/pseuds/Lycanthrope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the first year of Voldermort's return a Slytherin girl who is very close to Hermione, undergoes a drastic change through herself and the world around her. This is her story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: Life Unseen

**Author's Note:**

> Title: By The Light  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Summary: In the first year of Voldemort's return a Slytherin girl who is very close to Hermione, undergoes a drastic change through herself and the world around her. This is her story.  
> Disclaimer: Most of the characters locations portrayed in this fic are drawn directly from the Harry Potter novels which are the sole property and creative genius of J.K Rowling.  
> Warnings: This fiction deals with a loving and intimate relationship between two woman. Graphic consensual sex scenes are a distinct possibility. Graphic violence, gore and foul language are not only possible but should be expected. You have been warned. Please do not read any further is this content offends you or is illegal for you to view for any reason.  
> Notes: A big big thank you to Asher for betaing this work.

Chapter 1  
Dragging my feet through the tall, uncut dew covered grass, allowing my jeans to drag and gather moisture. Unhindered as my ankles feel the chill of the cold liquid gathering along the material making it become heavy and cling to my shins.

Looking ahead at what now seems like small dots in the sky moving in every direction. Like flies, each knowing where they want to go but undecided on which would be the fastest route to take. Instead becoming unfocussed and uncoordinated, darting around the sky with no discernible pattern. They however are not my concern, yet are in the direction I'm heading. 

Not a scrap of fabric rests upon my skin to betray my house to anyone but those who know my face. The heavy mantel of green and silver would do little more than hinder me in this endeavour, so I have taken much care over today's wardrobe. Cautiously keeping to mutual blacks and greys, like a shadow slinking between the high blades of grass, trying to look less and less like a slithering, serpent with every onward step. 

As I near the stands of the Quidditch pitch each player becomes clearer. The spectators coming into view, appearing through the thin morning mist. The players may not be my concern, but this doesn't stop my trained eyes from appraising each of them in turn, privately criticizing every detail of the team. 

One young boy isn't gripping his broom tightly enough to remain stable enough in the air to receive the ball. I can see him even at this distance correcting his balance every few moments. Another hovering almost dejectedly above the ground, is far too high to be in any positive strategic position. Such mistakes within my own practice sessions would achieve little more than scathing words and derogatory comments but here the house captain calmly flies between each player, gently correcting with a private word in their ear where necessary. Such differing styles makes me wonder how much effect it will have when confronted with the organised chaos of an actual game. 

As I approach, my eyes still on the pitch I silently commend the few players on this team pulling their weight, even as they are beginning to become both frustrated and fatigued with their less than able team mates.

My feet touch the bottom most step of the stands and do not hesitate in climbing up them. One foot heavily landing in front of the other, clattering against the hollow wood as it bends beneath my weight. Tearing my eyes from the pitch I rest my sights on my one and only goal of this particular venture into the spacious castle grounds. 

Reaching my destination I give my full attention to who is probably the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. Her dark untameable hair hanging low around her face hiding many of her features from view, but I can still see her small private smile beneath her natural vale. Her relatively, recently shortened front teeth glistening in the waning late autumn sunlight. As I stand at her side hoping to gain her undivided attention, her head tilts back to view me, her thick mane falling back to reveal her deep soulful brown eyes, both of them twinkling in my direction showing surprise but no form of anger and I give myself permission to release my bated breath.

Holding my posture alongside her and ineffectively wringing my hands for warmth against the bitter cold. "Cold morning." I begin with idle chitchat, having already taken things between us to a much more public level than either of us has in the previous two years of our rendezvous. She merely nods in response. I turn once more towards the pitch taking a seat next to her. Leaning far forward to rest my elbows heavily upon my knees and glancing with uninterested eyes over the players, picking one and following him with my gaze. An outward appearance of having nothing further to say. An appearance which is far from the truth. I have a thousand things I wish to say. Deep emotional confessions I fear I may never make and crude almost graphic references neither of us wish to fall on idle ears. "Time of year I suppose." Reducing myself to keeping the conversation primarily on the Scottish autumn weather.

She finally looks at me and those dark brown eyes make my insides melt. "What are you doing here?" The smile on her lips tells me she's not upset or even that worried. Simple curiosity is all that brings her to raise her question and that simple fact make me smile.

Such an innocent and inconsequential question that brings unbridled words to the tip of my tongue that I must force myself to clamp my teeth closed against so they do not fall from between my lips. Words of emotions that even now swirl around into a painful knot deep within my chest, falling heavily against my shoulders and begging for some form of release. 

With practised ease I ignore the rapid beating of my heart and even though I wish for nothing more than to be able to open it wide and spill it forth I offer nothing more than a nonchalant shrug. "Here or there. It makes little difference." The indifference blankets both my words and tone of voice with such unnatural effectiveness that it must be plain to see that they are untrue. That the tight control, which I hold over both my emotions and my heart is slowly beginning to slip between clutching fingers. The desire to hold onto them once so ferocious and unyielding, now dwindling with every passing heartbeat. "Besides, you were here and I wasn't. Couldn't think of a reason I shouldn't correct that.”

She makes a deep hum in the back of her throat, the twinkling mischief held deeply within her eyes informs me that she has already discovered a fatal flaw in my logic. "Because you happen to be in Slytherin. On the team. We happen to be in Gryffindor and are practising our tactics." Somehow, as she always seams to, she manages to place and underlying note of sarcasm in her tone but eradicates any form of aggression that would usually accompany such an action. 

"All of those are very good points. But I am off duty." I knit my fingers behind my head and lean back against the wooden seat to show that I am relaxed and not taking mental notes. Even though I may have inadvertently already done just that. That provokes a small laugh from my companion. "We meeting tonight?" I say softly so only she is able to hear my words over the wind. Trying to say as little as possible while still saying everything I must with just a meaningful flick in my gaze. Over the past few months I have been getting tired of cryptic languages and secret movements. This morning I just simply could not bring myself to slink about in the dark any longer. So I got myself dressed and made my way out into the cold, harsh light of day.

"If you want to" she replies, just as quietly. I try and fail to suppress the toothy grin forming across my face. "Just thinking for a change maybe my room." She's getting daring. I like that. 

Just when I think it's all going really smooth. Things went off without a hitch. Mission complete with no men down. I'm recognized. All of the people who were once playing on their brooms now come thundering up the steps and I had been so captivated by the vision at my side that I had not noticed the change in demeanour of the team. "What are you doing here?" Are the first words out Angelina Johnson's mouth, her scolding tone effectively dragging me from the pleasant exchange with the woman I am conversing with.

"Oh I'm sorry was this your practice?" Playing dumb is low, I know but I very rarely actively seek a heated exchange and over the years have learned that trying to submit to another's superior knowledge is a quick way to effectively eradicated any unwanted hostility. "Sorry, I didn't realize. I thought we had this morning."

"You didn't have to stick around." The green eyes of Harry Potter look down on me with disdain and I meet his unrelenting stare unblinkingly. 

"We could have been after you." I'm really trying to keep up the pretence. The truth is we haven't got a morning practice till the end of the week, anyone observant enough to keep a watchful eye on the training schedule would know such a thing but I have already committed to my hastily concocted ruse and must now follow it wherever it leads. 

Ron Weasley ignores my comment and proceeds to talk to my counterpart. "You alright Hermione?" With that love sick look in his eyes that makes my blood boil. Luckily she is blissfully unaware of this and so far I have not needed to beat the boy down to keep him away from our secret relationship.

Slight annoyance laces her voice as she answers. "I'm fine you don't have to babysit me."

"Get out of here." The black haired wonder practically orders. His eyes blazing and in his anger completely ignores the exchange between his two friends. 

I want to stand, hold my ground, shout and scream my true intentions to the heavens with the blind hope that maybe, just maybe I might be met with understanding. With resounding forgiveness for every indiscretion I may committed in the past and even as the urge burns it's way through my veins I know I will not be able to. With so many around me, so many personalties that I not yet encountered in depth, provide an abundance of variables and makes it impossible to predict the outcome to such an outburst. I have never been one to step unprepared into the fire and simply let it burn. 

So instead I fall back on old habits, submitting once more even as every muscle and organ twists and screams its anguish. Bunching my shoulder in a tight shrug I push against my knees to slowly stand. Silently bowing my head and keeping my gaze carefully trained to the ground. “I didn't come here for a fight, Potter.” I hear him grunt in distance at the use of his surname. “So I’ll take my leave of you.”

I take the steps one at a time drawing it out, my hands balled into fists and pushed deep into my pockets, with not even a backwards glance.

Well if I'm honest just the one. Straight into those dark brown eyes of Hermione Granger.

It doesn't take long after my departure before play resume again for the Gryffindor Team. The unique hollow sounds of the quaffle being passed can be heard over my shoulder. My interference appearing to be only a small distraction from their practice. All of them unaware of the importance of such a short conversation.

As I approach the castle I veer off to the side and avoid the main doors to avert myself from any sort of questions with regards to the state of play out on the practice field this morning. The last thing I need right now is for any fellow members of Slytherin to see me returning from the Quidditch Pitch as I have no prepared response as to the reason I had for been out there in the first place. My snap decision to approach Hermione this morning had left no room for the normal preparations I would make in such circumstances.

I had not been deceitful when I had said I had no interest in the opposing team's tactics or manoeuvres. I have no intention of passing any of my casual observations and criticisms on to any member of any of the other teams. My true intentions may not have been either innocent or honourable but they had much more influence over my life than Quidditch. Which, in itself is saying something.

Quidditch to many is just a sport. An intense, interesting, invigorating sport, but rarely anything more. Quidditch to me is an escape. Even if the game only lasts ten seconds I have still escaped my life for that period of time. I'm a Chaser for the Slytherin team and I'm good at it, really good at it. When I'm up there on my broom, wind in my face and scoring goal after goal, I'm free.

I'm no longer pure blooded, Slytherin Prefect with license to badger younger students. No longer the only daughter of Alcor Desay. A man believing himself to deserve a far higher station in life than he has been able to accomplish. He sees himself as the right hand man to The Dark Lord himself. Everyone else in the magical community who is much more respected by the Dark Lord is simply in his way. The fact that the Dark Lord would not even recognize the man if they were to pass on the street has in no way deterred my father from his delusion. He is a proud man but not a fool; somewhere along the line he has realized the futility of his own actions so has turned to his three children, one by one, to escalate his standing. Resolute that I or my two brothers will command the respect he deserves among the dark wizards of the world and he will trail along carefully following behind in our footsteps.

My older brother Dale rebelled against him not long after beginning life at Hogwarts. Always a free spirit and struggling against an overbearing parent demands. He left the family home shortly following his eighteenth birthday. Taking a position deeply set in the muggle world. Something we all keep as a closely guarded secret always hidden from my father's eyes.

My younger brother James has yet to see his eleventh birthday. I'm still not sure how he feels towards our father. It's just one of those topics which is never discussed within family circles. I'm sure his thoughts will be made clear now the Dark Load has returned and he will be attending school next year.

My mother, Capella Desay stands in direct contrast with her husband. A kind and gentle soul who's only expectations of her children is that we lead full and happy lives. She nurtured the three of us though much of our formative years, drying our tears when our father had spoken harshly or lashed out with some form of punishment that would often reduce us to emotional wrecks. Bringing us up on tales of Hero's and Gods, which stay with me to this day. Even though she often disagreed with my father’s methods her soft nature often held her tongue and as such she resigned herself to only picking up the pieces her spouse left behind.

That leaves me. Jamelia Mary-Alice Desay. My father had taken a keen interest in my early magical studies as my birth coincided with the fall of the Dark Lord. All dark witches and wizards knew he would return, no man of such power could ever let the measly inconvenience of death stop his reign. Thus my father was determined to have a child ready and waiting for his return, trained to such a degree that they will be accepted within his inner circle. Teaching me spells and potions from a very early age, some of which now I would prefer to have never leaned.

My first wide-eyed year of Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, I wanted nothing more than to completely please my father, at that time he was my whole world and praise is not something that Alcor Desay can ever be accused of showing in abundance. After being sorted into Slytherin, which filled him with joy, I immediately sought out and befriended the sons and daughters of many key figures within the dark wizard community. Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson taking the two top spots on this list. I was always just behind them. Never seen and never noticed. Slyly hiding behind the figureheads and aiding in their glory, warping it to my own design for my own benefit. The only ones to notice me in those years were the ones I wished to be seen by. The dark wizards, those still loyal to the dark lord, even in his absence. My father began to be invited to prestigious events. Taking a higher paid and a much more respected job in the wake of the connections I had blindly started.

This is how it continued until my third year. Two momentous things happened at this time. Both affecting my life and happiness in ways that I could never have predicted at the time. In April one of the Slytherin chasers was transferred to The Durmstrang Institute for Magical Learning leaving the position open for me to fill, quickly finding my passion and skill for the sport, which up until then I had paid very little attention to. The only real reason I had tried out for the place was because Draco had suggested it and it would give me much more access to him and his connections. I soon learned to love practices, living through each moment, bearing the mundaneness of school life to feel truly alive atop of a speeding broomstick.

The second thing which happened to me in this year changed my perspective of my life. I met Hermione Jean Granger. At the time she didn't know who I was. This was weeks before my first Quidditch game. I'm quiet and collected. Always unnoticed on the sidelines. That's the way I like it. The unseen influence.

I obviously knew who she was. The brains of the golden trio. She was out in the castle grounds alone, a forgotten book lying open in her lap as she gazed over the still waters of the black lake. Right here and now I see very little point in lying. As I watched her watching nothing that day I saw a golden opportunity to gain second hand secrets of the boy who lived. She was mealy a means to and end so I sat down and started to talk. Within half an hour she had secretly stolen my heart. Within one month we were physically intimate and by the end of that school year I knew without a shadow of doubt that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with a Gryffindor muggleborn. Another dirty little secret kept hidden away from my father along with ever other person in my life.

Gradually over the past year or so I have been slowly extracting myself from the tangled web of dark magic. Stepping away unnoticed and spending more and more time with the brilliant young witch. All we have are stolen, secret moments. A highly physical relationship which is slowly evolving into something more. 

Stepping out and informing her friends and the school is a large step, one I don't think either of us can ever be truly ready for. One that I still want to take, which explains my actions this morning. Stepping out into the harsh morning sunlight to test the waters surrounding her. Waters I now know are by no means calm. A small difficulty I would happily try to overcome, the question is would she? Something which I am trying to learn little by little.

I make a pass around the castle and enter through the dungeons and steadily make my way towards Gryffindor tower, badgering a couple of second years for loitering in the hallway. As I start to ascend the stairs maintaining my image of a cool and collected exterior even as my heart rate begins to increase substantially.

As I begin to approach the door to Hermione's private room with my heart beating rapidly in my throat, I remember to glance up and down the corridor to check that I am alone before pushing my shoulder against the wooden door and whispering her password to gain entrance. My heartbeat only begins to slow when I see the room still empty.

In all honesty I had not anticipated being recognized by the entire Gryffindor team quite so quickly and I frankly don't know what kind of reception Hermione is going to get from her house mates. Or for that matter how she will react to it. I had intended to test the waters but I realize I may have forced her to make a decision with regards to our future relationship. She may have to decide between her friends and me. A choice have have no illusions will never swing in my favour.

I make my way to the high window, taking a pair of trinkets from her desk between my fingers and testing its weight as I look out across the grounds where the Gryffindor team is beginning to make their way back to the warmth of the castle. I cannot make out within the crowd which is Hermione, or if any sort of confrontation has taken place.

I know there isn't a lot I can do about this situation now so I turn my attention to the small item in my hands. It is two small, smooth spherical objects. They easily glide against each other within my palm, jingling as they move. I have absolutely no idea what they are or their purpose. So I slowly lower them back into the small velvet lined box from where they came just as the door pushes open and Hermione steps through. "Hello Jamie." She greets.

I offer her a small smile and I am very relieved as the agitated look on her face instantly drops and she offers me a bright smile in return. I turn fully to her and lean against her desk, my arms crossing across my chest. "Is everything all right?"

A long sigh is pushed through her nose as the pulls off her thick robe and throws it over her bed. "As good as it can be." She stops with her hands on her hips and looks me up and down. "What on earth possessed you to come to Quidditch practice?"

I shrug, not really having an acceptable answer. "Don't know. Suppose I was bored." The truthful response would have been that I had been unable to see her for over a week and I missed her, but such topics of conversation are never touched upon and are avoided at all costs between the two of us.

She shakes her head and drops her hands to her sides. "It was dangerous." From the way she is looking over me I can see she is not happy with my answer but thankfully she allows the subject to drop. "Just leave it a while before you do something like that again."

I feel my forehead crease as I ask. "Were they suspicious?"

She laughs before coming to stand before me and draws me into the circle of her arms, leaning her head back to look up at me. "Not even remotely. Who would ever guess what is between you and me?" Not even I would hazard a guess as to exactly what is between us at this moment. "No. But it's still dangerous for you. You know how the boys can be."

She takes my wrists and pulls them behind her back resting her cheek against my shoulder, settling into my circle of my arms. “Acutely, no I don't." I say in honesty, I have never really met either of her best friends. I've seen them in the hallways and at lessons but never truly met them.

"Fiercely protective" she says her lips pressing against the skin of my neck. "Just be careful."

My eyes close against the instant burning in the pit of my belly at her small action and I drag her scent in through my nostrils. What this woman does to me with such a small simple act borders on frightening. It takes me but a moment to compose myself letting my eyes slide open and swallow the fierce beating of my heart. I bring my hand up to cup her cheek in my palm and gently pull her into a much more comfortable position to cover her lips with my own.


	2. Chapter 2: Shattered

Chapter 2

Her lips imminently fall into an ancient rhythm with mine. One touch of our lips immediately leading to another. Each of us grasping each other tightly as I give in to my cravings for this wonderful woman held clenched in my embrace.

Perception of time begins to slip away from my mind as her fingers weave their way into my thick, long hair. Each time our lips part her erratic her breath mingles with my own so we are breathing as one, moving as one and feeling as one, before they come crashing together again, beginning the cycle anew. In moments like these I feel complete. Each and every fibre of my being coming alive in her arms, under her touch as though she wordlessly commands it to be so. 

My palm grips her hip and pulls her tightly against me. Needing to feel her along the length of my body, wanting to caress every inch of skin all at once but blocked in such a endeavour by the abundance of cloth between us. 

She weasels a single finger through my belt loop and steps backwards, forcing me to step forward in pursuit, never moving my lips from hers for longer than a second. Moments later she repeats the action, starting the dance all over again.

She stops her assault of my mouth, running her lips along my cheek down to my jawline and along my neck. The fire already raging inside of me intensifying into an inferno of emotion, hormones and need. “By the gods, I want you Hermione.” I shakily manage to speak.

She makes a positive sound in the back of her throat as her fingers begin to nimbly unbutton my shirt. Quickly the garment is open and her palms reach inside to run across the skin of my belly with an enticing softness. A gentleness she always shows me in our moments of privacy.

My eager hands are just sliding up her back when the there are three hesitant knocks at the door. Her attention on my neck immediately stops and I hear her hold her breath, standing perfectly still trying to preventing herself from making any perceivable sound that can be heard from the other side the wooden door. 

My gaze hits the wood grain, narrowing upon contact. With any luck whoever stands on the other side will simply walk away. Fooled by the very simple ruse that the room is empty. 

“Hermione?” Ronald Weasley's voice sounds through the door, sounding both small and recently chastised. 

My eyes close in pure irritation and knowing that there is no way she will continue this charade with her best friend vying for her attention I sarcastically look down the length of my torso at the top of her bowed head. “His timing is impeccable.”

With a sigh her forehead rests on my shoulder and she calls out totally ignoring my comment. “What is it Ron?” She calls out, her voice muffled by my chest but still loud enough to be heads from outside of the room. 

“I...” He pauses and I can just imagine him collecting himself on the other side of the doorway. Dusting off his robes and shuffling nervously for foot to foot. “I just wanted to know, if you were alright.”

“I'm fine.” Her voice is holding an undeniably irate tone to it.

“Are you sure?” Persistent bugger isn't he?

I lower a kiss behind her ear, letting her lean into the caress and whisper against her flesh, to insure he cannot hear. “I don't think he's going anywhere until you answer him.”

She nods against me and whispers back. “I know.” The note of defeat is evident within her voice. 

“Look Hermione. I just want to make sure everything is alright... Are you still mad at me?”

I give her an unscrupulous look. How can she be so blind to his advances? Even as I think this her hand cups my cheek and she looks at me, her gaze apologetic. 

She leads me behind her door and opens it enough so she is able to see him and I am hidden behind it. I begin to redo the buttons of my shirt sensing that the moment of intimacy has been damaged beyond repair by the interruption. “No Ron, I'm not mad.” Unseen I roll my eyes and shake my head. A strategically placed lie in that moment would have proved to be enough to run the red headed boy off. At least for long enough that I could have made my escape. “But right now I think I just need to be left alone.”

“Aww, come on Hermione. I didn't mean to... what was it you said? Undermine you. I just thought...” So it would appear Hermione did not walk away unscathed from the disaster I left down at the Quidditch pitch. 

She cuts him off mid flow. “No you didn't think Ron. You never think. You just act and it's so infuriating.” Immediately I feel as though I am witness to a conversation that should remain private. A disagreement between friends that may very quickly descend into the realms of the deeply personal. 

“Look Hermione.” He says with a sheepish tone to his voice. “I don't think we should have this conversation in the hallway. Can I come in?”

“Ron.” He completely misses the warning tone, which puts a tight edge to her voice and pushes against the door letting himself in with a lightly mumbled 'thanks'.

As I see his bright red hair enter the room and Hermione's eyes meet mine, telling me that the situation is now beyond her control. I realize that I have to decide exactly what I need to do here. There is little to no chance of escape. I would need to walk around the door to get out of the room. He would see me in an instant. It would also open up my back to attack and I could never have that. To be so defenceless against a Weasley, my pride would not allow it.

Another option is to hide, but where? From where I stand my options are very limited. There is the old, under the bed trick. However I can't honestly see any way of getting under there without one getting caught and two it looks very undignified. Plus the moment he turns to face Hermione his eyes will land on me, unceremoniously cowering behind the door.

The easiest option is to simply draw my wand and hex the boy so deep into unconsciousness that I not only could I book an retreat without ever being seen, it would also not necessarily be a hasty endeavour. However such a violent solution would not go over well with Hermione, even if she were to understand the action it is highly unlikely that I would ever be permitted to enter her private chambers again and that is something that I would dearly like to continue. 

I only have one other real option open to me and frustratingly I am completely unable to calculate the consequences of what I know I must do. I dig deep into my belly, pulling a sneer across my face, stepping forwards and prepare to act as though I own the place. “Hello Weasley.” 

He lets out a surprised yelp, jumping up and spinning on the spot, patting his palms against his chest in a fevered search for his wand. Reaching beneath his robes and finally extracting it and pointing it towards my - by now - very bored expression.

I pull my arms across my chest dropping myself into a small defensive stance and consider the boy in front of me. Shakily pointing his wand at me in what I think he interprets as a threatening pose, searching his mind for a spell to throw in my direction. 

I know without a shadow of doubt that my wand is currently located in my back pocket, protruding ever so slightly for easy access. I know that in the time it would take for me to reach for it and point it at this boy I would already have a multitude of highly painful curses ready and powered at its tip. I am also completely certain that of these curses that are already running through my mind there is not one of them that he would be confident in blocking. The final thing I know, and this one is big, is that if I were to do any of these things Hermione would very likely never forgive me.

So I remain, rooted to the spot, my eyes focused on the tip of his wand as he begins to speak. “What are you doing here?” I feel myself shrug on reflex. My face carefully relaxed remaining silent. “If you've hurt her I swear I'll...”

I cut him off stepping forward so the tip of his wand presses tightly against my breastplate. “You'll what Weasley? Curse me? Just try it.” I dare him. Knowing he would need to speak his spell of choice and at this distance I would quite easily be able to redirect his wand before it could touch me.

“What are you doing here?” He says, beginning to gain some confidence.

I shrug again. “Same as you. I came to see Hermione.” I flick my eyes in her direction trying to gain her reaction to this situation. The look in her eyes tells me she is not handling this well.

“Why?” Interesting question.

Should I answer with complete honesty? Telling him that I am so completely devoted to his friend that I cannot bear to be away from her for longer than a day? Should I simply say what Hermione already knows of our relationship until the tips of his ears are the same colour as his hair? Instead I remain outwardly calm. “Why not?”

“Well...” His gaze wavers from mine as he ponders this. Giving me another golden opportunity to incapacitate him. Something which I am still failing to do. “Just get out. Or I'll...”

The tip of his wand presses tighter against my breastplate as I lean forward and press against it. The posture itself serves to be threatening but it also ensures that if, in the unlikely event he were able to conjure a wordless spell I will be able to feel it vibrate against my bone, giving me the opportunity to redirect the strike to a much safer position. “Or you'll, what? Exactly.” I ask, raising an eyebrow, almost hoping that he tries to send a hex my way. At least then I would have both opportunity and reasonable motive to vent my frustrations out on him. 

“That's enough.” Hermione comes to stand between us gently pushing against my shoulder, while simultaneously trying to push Weasley's wand down from my chest. ”Ron drop it.” He glances over to her then back at me as I raise my lip in a sneer; he then begins to slowly lower his wand from its threatening position. Hermione takes this to be a good sign as she adds. “Thank you.” She lets out a long frustrated sigh before turning her head to me. “I think you'd better go.”

My gaze snaps to meet hers as my insides begin to ache. I can see my world crumbling around me and there is nothing I can do to stop it. “Me?”

“Yeah you.” Ron gloats. Only to immediately cower away from the fire that burn in my iris' as I snap my sites on him. 

Hermione's grip on my shoulder tightens as she turns to chastise him. “I said that's enough Ron.” She turns back to be with apologetic eyes and in that moment I know I’ve lost her. I unwittingly forced her to make this decision and I was never under any illusion that she would choose me over her friends. Carefully she begins to speak even as I feel the light leaving my eyes. “I think it's best if you leave.”

I feel numb and I feel empty. Like my very soul was ripped from my body only to be thrown to the floor to be tramped over. I run a hand over my eyes and will them to stop aching with unshed tears. I cannot remember the last time I wept with pain and I’ll be damned if I start now, with so many eyes bearing down on me. “Fine.” I finally say, trusting myself to look in her direction hoping that she cannot see the pleading in the back of my eyes. I hastily turn and leave closing the door gently behind me.

It takes me a moment to realize I’m staring at the ageing wood, the tips of my fingers gently running along the grain. Silently saying goodbye to what I truly desire. Not being able to voice it to the open hallway but still feeling my chest aching with the strain of what I know is to come. Nothing has been said yet but I can feel it. The walls of reality finally bearing down on me, crushing me with immeasurable force. 

I have to restrain myself from violently lashing out at the wooden door and opt to turn and leave, blindly making my way back down to the dungeons. Back down to the dark where I belong. A numbness to debilitating to the senses seeps deep into my bones and I'm at my own doorway before I’ve even registered that I have descended a flight of stairs. “Finet lux lucis.” I whisper still in a light daze and granting myself entrance to the private prefect room.

The door creaks as it closes behind me and I'm left alone in the dark cold room, only my dark looming thoughts for company.

Even in this state I cannot bring myself to let go of that last flicker of hope. The last reminisce of how thing should be. How they could be. It could remain the same. Stealing secret moments away from prying eyes. It could be so much more. Her friends can be excepting, even reasonable, if only they could know my unyielding love for her. If only I had the courage to voice it.

It's only three little words after all. Three tiny, innocuous words that bear such weight that no matter her reaction they will tip the foundations of our relationship on it's head and once spoken can never be revoked. 

I take a seat at my desk. Blindly looking at the moss covered walls, playing scenes out within my mind. Shaking my head against the images and dropping my head into my hands I know I cannot afford such wishful thinking. In this world there is only what is, not would could be, or what I wish to be. The only real way I can deal with this is to wait. My world is in their hands and I have no choice but to trust them not to break it.

With this new resolve I pull a fresh stretch of parchment across my desk, running my palm over its smooth surface. Removing one bottle of ink and a quill I begin to write my essay for potions, which I confess had been putting off for days. 

Losing myself in the slow scratch of the nib upon the parchment. I spend my time forcing all thoughts of this predicament from my mind, completely concentrated in my task. Hunching over the written words for untold hours until my breathing returns to normal and my heart stops hammering against my chest. Letting my entire focus rest upon this academic exercise, where I can influence my grades to my liking, always knowing the outcome. 

This is how she finds me. Cold, distant and withdrawn. 

The door creaks open and I continue to write. Aware of her presence but unwilling to leave the sanctuary of my essay until necessary, determined to at the very least; finish my paragraph before returning to reality. “Jamie.” She calls to me her voice breaking on that single word as she closes the door.

I can almost smell her tears, so evident they are in her hitch breathing. It's more than enough to confirm my fears and my heart seizes at the implications. Clenching my teeth and swallowing the bile that is rising up my throat I force myself to remain natural. Unchanging, unaffected or at the very least appearing to be so. “Yes Hermione.” I reply still scratching the words across the parchment and treating her like a mile inconvenience. 

She clears her throat and speaks to the back of my head. “We really need to talk.” I remain stoic allowing leaving a silence between us, knowing that she will soon become uncomfortable with it and she will continue without me having to prompt for it. “It's over Jamie.”

Just like that, another three little words. Not the ones I wished to hear but just as devastating. 

My quill hovers, static over the piece of parchment, my whole body freezing in place as I reach to dip the nib back into the ink. My jaw clenching painfully and my mind going blank. I had not expected such a reaction, that those words that I had been anticipating could no longer affect me. I had been wrong. 

After many moments I am able to swallow the growing lump in my throat to form speech. “I know.” Even to my ears it sounds empty, almost forced. 

I hear her step forward her hand resting on my shoulder. “I'm sorry.”

I roll my shoulder forcing her comforting hand from my body. “No you're not.” My tongue now working of its own will, needing to lash out and hurt her as much as she's hurting me. Even though I am unwilling to show my pain, it does not prevent me needing to inflict it in equal quantities. My quill drops back into my ink pot and I tap the excess from the tip, once again resting it on the parchment. I simply cannot bring myself to look at her. If I do I fear it will be my undoing.

Thankfully she does not try to touch me again. “I didn't want it to be like this.” I can hear the presence of tears in her voice. The grip on my quill tightens and I force myself to stay seated, even as every fibre of my being is screaming at me to comfort her. Even as she tears my heart to pieces.

Instead I bite, like the snake I am. “You chose Hermione.” My quill lands in the ink a final time and I leave it there. The distraction no longer working. I knit my fingers together across my desk, still refusing to look at her. “You chose this. I did not.”

“Are you saying you wouldn't. Are you honestly saying that if you were in my position you wouldn't do the same?”

How can she be so blind? If our roles were reversed I know I would fight for her. To keep her in my life one way or another. Whether it remain in secret, or if I were to declare to the whole world that I am besotted with Hermione Jean Granger. The smart and brilliant muggle born witch who would put us pure bloods to shame had she the inclination. My father and my house mates be damned.

I turn my head so I am able to see her in my peripheral vision. “I'm not in your position though. Am I?” My jaw tightens painfully trying to keep my hurtful comments safely behind my teeth, knowing that I will regret them later. I know I could easily tell her my true feelings and end all of this in a heartbeat. One way or another. I know she could fall into my arms like she has so many times before. On the counter side she could laugh in my face and still walk away. I honestly don't think I could take that right now. “I think you'd better go.” I say my voice still void of emotion.

I hear her sniff back her tears and say. “I really am sorry.” The door creaks open and then closes and as the catch clicks into place I sharply look towards it. Hoping that maybe, just maybe she's still standing there. However the room is cold and empty once more and I find my chest aching. Slowly I turn back to my desk and replay the conversation in my mind’s eye, swiftly provoking an unpleasant burning deep in the pit of my stomach of which I do not know how to sate. The pain provoking anger and without thought or pause I grasp the small bottle of ink hurling it at the stone wall. It shatters on impact, ink flying all over the room and still the burning in my chest continues.

My hand runs through my hair and scrubs my face, my eyes unblinking, watching wet black ink as it begins to run down the cold stone wall, willing myself to calm my trembling body. 

“By the Gods above, what do I do now?”


	3. Chapter 3: Rapid Decent

Chapter 3

I sat at my desk for a long time that day. Watching the thick, black ink slowly, slither down the stone wall and finally dry. The minuets bleeding into hours, time passing unhindered, unnoticed and even as the sun began to set over the horizon, still I had yet to move. I was sitting and pondering on my life, my two worlds, lives apart, both existing in secret from the other. It would have been so unbelievably easy to slip back into my old ways. Stand behind the lime light, warping it to my own design, still remaining just out of sight.

Even though I knew how easy it would be, to once more feed the roots I had laid in my formative years at the school I found myself faltering. Hermione had shown me more than her body, more than her comforting touch in the time we had spent together. She's let me glimpse at her way of life. Even though the blood flowing through her veins is not by any stretch as pure as mine, I discovered that I was in no way better than her. She is brighter, quicker and has a thirst for knowledge like no other. She is alive and free, uncaring of how pure the blood running through you happens to be and to some extent - as I have proven - even what house you're in. Only ever judging a person on what she sees them do.

In spite of this I sat there unmoving, barely breathing trying in vain to convince myself of her inferiority. Her birthright earning her a much lower status than my own. Each time I started to persuade myself I'd see her eyes. Her beautiful brown eyes, always observing, always alive in some way. Something I find hard to distinguish in my own hard, cold blue ones. Even though I knew I had lost her touch I could not think less of her. Regardless of how much I tried.

The days that followed felt grey and heavy, without her light within them. I couldn't bring myself to influence anyone around me, for any purpose. I'm in love with a muggle born witch and I no longer have any desire to heighten my standings around those that would condemn her. It was much easier than I thought it would be to quietly extract myself from the group I had initially sought out.

As the days began to slowly melt into weeks I spent much more time in the solitude of my room. Not one soul came to visit, not one passing curiosity as to my well being. This cemented my decision to remove myself from the dark wizard community as effectively and quietly as possible.

Something that I have also discovered in the weeks that have passed is a term I had read much about but knew little of until now. 'Heartache' is a very appropriately named affliction. Though I know I should forget, should let go of my emotions. The weight I find laid out on my chest can become unbearable. I can glimpse her, just for a moment, nothing more than a flick of her untameable brown locks and if unprepared it feels like the wind has been knocked clean out of me. Stopping me in my tracks and disorganizing my thoughts. No physical pain I have felt before can compare to what my mind and body can do to me in these moments. 

Due to this I adopted my uncanny ability to avoid those around me, where appropriate. Completely denying the existence of the north Gryffindor tower, taking to eating, if ever either long before or after my fellow students and removing myself from bubbling school society as much as possible without arousing suspicion. It's a solitary existence, which only makes the deep throbbing of loneliness in my chest all the worse.

Quidditch has served as my only acceptable escape. Neither of my two secret worlds exists atop that broom. I've taken to practising at every spare moment, even flying solo if the situation dictates. Just me and the wind. Losing myself in the feeling.

Today, unfortunately that is not possible. Another team is practising out on the pitch in all of my free lessons and they would not be grateful of an intrusion from a Slytherin chaser. So I resign myself to my midday meal, admittedly the hardest throughout the day to avoid my classmates. Today being no exception. The Great Hall is alive with conversation and the clatter of cutlery and even as I enter the cavernous room, carefully training my eyes away from the Gryffindor table I know it will be difficult to remove myself from the bustling life of the student body.

I slowly make my way along the outer wall along the Slytherin table, a lone book clasped tightly under my arm and find an empty seat. As I sit in place, placing my bag between my feet, and begin to load my plate with more food than I can possibly consume. Once I am happy that I will not need to engage any further with the table regardless of my apatite I open my book and try in vain to lose myself in its contents.

I swiftly find myself with my forehead clasped tightly between my thumb and forefingers, reading the same sentence before me, more than once against the hustle of the great hall at this time of day. I am knocked from the side as one boy is over zealous with his meal and have to clench my jaw tightly, to keep from reacting to the interruption and begin to read the sentence anew for the third time.

I have barely finished the paragraph before movement on the opposite side of the table has caught my attention. Three of my classmates quickly load their plates with utensils and scamper away, they are almost instantly replaced by three of the boys I have been avoiding contact with for weeks. Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.

I have to resist the urge to sigh as Draco begins to speak. "Desay." My eyes rise above the rim of my book and I have to consciously keep the venom out of my gaze and he falls onto his old habit of addressing everyone by only their last name. Conveying his lack of respect for anyone with a single word.

I allow my eyes to rest on him for a moment and quickly return them to the words in front of me. "Draco." I greet polity turning the page even though I have no further interest in the contents of the book. This is the first time Draco has sought me out since I started to distance myself from his network of connections. I'm more than a little uneasy as to his motive. If he were to find out about Hermione and me it would only be a matter of time before word spread to my father. That is an eventuality I don't even want to imagine.

"Haven't really been seeing a lot of you lately."

My grip tightens slightly on the hard backed book. I had really hoped he hadn't noticed. I keep my voice neutral and I still glare at the pages. Wondering why it could not protect me from this conversation. "I've been busy."

"I'm not surprised." My gaze shoots to him, by the sons of Zeus, what is he talking about? He appears to oversee my nervous response to his comment as he continues. "Snape's been working everyone like dogs, even us." He rests his hands on the table and leans forward and continues in a whisper "Have you finished that essay on 'soul sand' yet?"

Thank the gods for small mercy's. "Sure I have." In truth with all of my solitude, school work has been all I have had to pass the time. I don't think I currently have anything outstanding which is a sobering thought as I have no idea what I am going to have to occupy my mind tonight. Still I continue to speak in an easy manner, closing on book on the table to give Draco my attention. "Father has been badgering me to study harder at potions. Hasn't left me much free time." The sentence carefully designed to reinforce his assumption.

I watch as a multitude of unidentifiable emotions flash across his face. He sits for a moment in silence and I meet his cold grey stare for each and every second of it. To look away now would give away my less than truthful answers easily in my body language. Finally he takes a breath and breaks his stoic pose. "Can I borrow it?"

I laugh slightly to cover up my relieved sigh. "Sure. But if you're going to copy it Draco can you at least try not to do it word for word this time?"

He laughs out loud, effectively dispelling the tension around us. "It's a deal." He continues to smirk as he leans heavily on his elbow over the table. "Listen, the boys and I are thinking about taking a little field trip tonight. You know after dark. Thought you might like to come along."

"You mean after hours." Automatically I know I don't want to be involved. "I don't know Draco. I've got a lot I need to catch up on." I say pushing a fork full of potato between my teeth looking thoughtful.

"I remember a time when you would jump at a chance like this." I'm not sure if the smile on his face is deceiving or not but I can see his eyes twinkling with something. Something I just can't quite place.

I drop my fork back to my plate and swallow before answering. "That was before my grades started to slip." I drop my gaze to my plate and push the food around with my fork to avoid his gaze.

Still he continues to push. "I would consider it to be a personal favour to me, if you were to accompany us tonight."

I feel my eyes close in defeat. Damn him. If I refuse now my father will hear for certain and he will know immediately something is wrong. I sigh and consider my options allowing the indecision to cross my face as I sit back, wiping my mouth in my palm. "Then how could I possibly refuse such an offer?"

I see his teeth as he shows his pleasure at my response. "Knew you'd see sense." He stands and his two ever present body guards stand with him without a word. "Just be in the common room around eight."

"I'll be there." I say leaning back to regard him as he makes his way back along the table and out of the Great Hall. 

What does he know? Maybe he knows nothing. I may have just been more conspicuous by my absence than I originally thought. Or maybe he knows everything and is implementing a clever ruse. Either way I must meet with him tonight for whatever he has planned. To remain absent would only arose suspicion and if he already knows I'm as good as dead anyway.

I turn back to my plate and discover I have lost all appetite. The sight of the meal making my stomach churn and I quickly push it away. Resting my head into my hands wondering if I can possibly get myself out of this situation.

I'm still contemplating this when I realize that everyone around me it scurrying to their next lesson and a quick glance at my watch assures me that I am indeed late for History of Magic. So I, with great haste, push my book deep into my bag and rush from The Great Hall along with my classmates.

After one very boring, very long History of Magic double lesson, three younger students chastised for lighting small magical fireworks in the hall, one pointless Defence Against the Dark Art class and a long nervous stretch of solitude in my room I find myself walking numbly to the Slytherin common room. Wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans before whispering the password to the unblemished stone wall waiting for it to grant me entrance.

Only the three boys I have come here to meet are present which is most unorthodox at this time of night. Vincent already throwing a backpack over his shoulder. As the wall closes behind me, all three look in my direction and Draco pulls a smile across his features. "Good. We're all here."

"Just us four?" I ask trying to keep the nerves from my voice.

He runs a hand over his hair and hands another bag to Gregory who takes it immediately and without question. "That's right."

I can't decide if I'm in trouble here or not. Draco can be very deceptive if he puts his mind to it and his two henchmen are staying suspiciously quiet. It could still be paranoia, which is alerting me to these things I have remind myself of that and force myself to remain outwardly calm. "Where are we going?"  
Draco just smiles in my direction and walks around me to open to wall to the castle. I feel like a lamb being led to the slaughter and I must go willingly to keep up the façade. 

Vincent and Gregory move around me and while still out of sight I give myself a moment and run my shaky fingers through my hair. Closing my eyes and taking a deep calming breath before following them back out, into the castle dungeons.

I remain quiet as I am lead through the long, dark, empty passageways and out into one of the castles many courtyards. All of us remaining silent so as to not alert any of the teaching staff to our presence.

We are led by Draco, across the cobblestones and then out of the dimly lit yard onto the open expanse of the grounds. The moon full and high in the night sky lights our path. At Draco's quiet urging we all break into a jog and it quickly becomes apparent that he is heading straight for the tree line of the Forbidden Forest. What in the name of Artemis could he need to do out here that would require my help?

I try to push some optimism into my veins, it's not as if this is the first time I have been asked to accompany him on one of his missions in the Dark Lords name. So swallowing the lump in my throat I continue unfaltering in my steps behind him, both of his large ever present friends closely following behind me.

We reach the thick expanse of trees, the dense canopy blocking the light from the moon and our leader feels this is a good time as any to stop, asking Vincent to pull off the bag from his back. Draco reaches inside and pulls three lanterns lighting them with a quickly uttered spell and handing them to us so he is left with only his wand to carry as he begins to lead up deep into the forest.

I clear my throat and find myself unable to cope with either the silence or the secrecy any longer and I speak up. "So what are we doing here anyway?"

He ducks under a low branch before answering. "My father asked me to do something for him. I needed another pair of hands. What's the matter? Don't you like it here Desay?"

"Call me old fashioned but creepy dark and might I add forbidden forests aren't exactly where I would normally relax at this time of night." I stop speaking at his barked laughter and step over a high root. "What is it you need to do?"

"That doesn't concern you right now Desay."

I bite my tongue and feel my state of uneasiness rising but still I press on hiding behind the mask of indifference.

We walk through the dense woodland for what feels like hours before he pulls us to a stop. "I think this will do." I hear him mutter and Gregory dutifully drops his bag to the floor.

I can't quite understand where here is. There is still nothing but trees, shrubs and dead leaves littering the floor. I lower my lantern to the floor having a look around me and almost lose my footing over a high incline in the landscape. The side of my foot scrapes against the leaves and I fall onto my side and lucky manage to gain purchase on a nearby protruding root. My fingers wrapping around it in a tight grip.

I awkwardly pull myself back up without the aid of any of my companions and swiftly lift the lantern to look over the side of the steep incline. At the top at the very least it is close to a vertical drop, dropping so far the light of the lantern is unable to reach the bottom. I feel my blood run cold as I realize exactly the position I've landed myself into. "So, what's so special about this place?" Even with all of my effort I am unable to keep the waver out of my voice.

"It's far enough away from the castle." Draco says with an emotionless tone to his voice. I'm still gazing over the side of the embankment as I hear the leaves rustle indicating he has moved closer. "Did you ever bring your mudblood out here? It can be quite romantic."

My hands begin to shake in fear. "Don't know what you’re talking about." Even my voice is shaking and cold sweat has erupted over my skin.

"Now, now Desay. Stop lying to me." Slowly I turn to face him. The limited light casting deep shadows across his face and making his features appear more threatening. He adopts a thoughtful look and he cocks his head slightly to the side. The simple gesture doing nothing to aid my discomfort. "Tell me. Truthfully. Was she worth it?"

My breath is shallow and my fear is mounting but still I find myself stupidly asking. "Was she worth what?"

"This." I feel the flat of his hand against my chest and then I'm flying. Off the side of the high, steep incline, my arms flailing wildly for something anything to grip onto to stop my fall. My grasping fingers are met with nothing but air.

One of my flailing arms catch the side of a nearby tree, the tell tale sound of bone snapping under pressure rings out into the darkness surrounding me, the force spinning it around my body without my direction and flat against my chest. My back is next to take an impact. Landing heavily against the bark of a tree, bending my body in an unnatural direction but still my momentum pushes me forward and downward. Both my head and my leg take a strike from the foliage around me, before I feel my shoulder hit the carpet of leaves.

I bounce, twice off the floor with the force of my landing and finally come to rest face down, pressing uncomfortably down on my most certainly broken arm.

Using my one uninjured upper limb I quickly roll myself onto my back and immediately wish I hadn't as sharp pain erupts through it. Around me in the dark I hear my own cry of agony echoing off the trees and laughter from high above, imitating from the three boys who put me here. A sharp cry if "I hope you rot Blood Traitor" from one of Draco's two cronies echoes down to meet my ears.

My chest is filled with pain and it is difficult to breathe, only able to inhale shaky, halted breaths. My head begins to swim even as I try to get myself back on my feet. I manage to get up onto my bent knees when something else snaps and agony shoots though my left limb. Screams are ripped from my throat as I descend once more to the earth below me.

Looking out into the never ending darkness around me I feel the last spark of hope flicker away as the last embers of the lantern extinguish and allow myself to descend into the deep pits of unconsciousness.


	4. Chapter 4: By the Morning Light

Chapter 4

Slowly I feel as unconsciousness slips away from my mind. My mouth dry, my tongue feeling too large for my mouth, my skin cold and damp. The first rays of morning light hit my eyelids, slowly they open into slits against the dim light.

The tip of my tongue hits my upper lip and I try to swallow past the ache running down my throat. My left hand lifts from the dew covered grass beneath it to shade my tired eyes from the light of the steadily rising sun. All I know is that I ache. From head to toe and I cannot shake the feeling that something is distinctly wrong.

I can't understand why I am waking up on the castle grounds. I bring both of my hands to my face and scrub against my skin, trying in vain to force my mind to awaken sufficiently, so I can assess the situation. After only a moment I freeze pulling both of my hands away from my face to stare at them blankly. What's wrong with this picture? There is something inaccurate but I cannot fight off the last effects of sleep to understand what it is.

First I close my right fist, then my left unable to comprehend why this fills me with relief and dread at the same time. Something's wrong with my hands but what? They look perfectly functional to me. Now I twist both wrists in turn so my closed fist faces away from me. There is quite clearly nothing wrong with them. Finally realization hits me like a bludger to the face and my eyes snap wide open. The effects of sleep dropping from my mind in an instant. My arm isn't broken. I open and close my hand a few more times for clarity. There is no pain and I have full movement of the limb.

I hastily push myself up into a sitting position, my body aches in protest but none of my limbs crumble beneath me. Even as I lean forward and run both of my hands over my thigh. I find nothing there. Just my leg. Void of the horrific pain I felt the night before and no trace of any distorted bones beneath the skin.

I feel myself begin to breathe a little more franticly. Did I imagine all of last night? If that is the case why am I still outside the castle? Why am I not curled up under my sheets in the dungeons? I lift the sleeve of my robe and run my hand along my arm’s length. There is no way the bone can be broken, yet I distinctly remember hearing it crack and the pain associated with it.

As I look down at my impossibly, uninjured limb my robes finally catch my attention. All along my right hand side they are ripped down to my bear skin. The frayed tears in the fabric, covered in thick dried blood. I reach beneath my robes and feel along my side, pulling them away clean. This is madness. How can my robes be ripped so servilely and yet my skin is not?

Glancing around my surroundings I notice two things. Firstly, that I am alone. The grounds are distinctly still and silent against the sunrise. Secondly, that I am not within the confines of the trees of the Forbidden Forest. It is as though I have been placed just outside of the dense tree line.

Slowly I push myself to my feet, and cast my eyes though the dark foliage. I remember walking in there with the same sense of foreboding as I feel now. What happened in there after I passed out? What could possibly have healed my injuries in such a short space of time?

The cold grip of fear begins to slide up my throat, attempting to choke me as my eyes dart around in vain trying to see into the darkness between the trees. I turn my head sharply in the direction of the castle then back over towards the rising sun. Both of my hands raking through my hair as questions begin to swim through my mind.

I glance at my watch and see it is a little after five and experience tells me that there are very few who roam the school at this time in the morning. I would be able to travel along the hallways without meeting a soul if I were careful and with the state of my robes that can only be a good thing. So with one final glance between the trees I begin a gentle jog back to one of the castles many courtyards, having enough sense to dash across the cobblestone floor and push the heavy wooden arched door open. I quickly descend the spiral staircase finding my way into the dungeons and make it back to my private quarters without even the appearance of one of the school's numerous ghosts.

Once safely on the other side of my doorway I am able to afford a moment to breathe, leaning against the doorway with inquiries as to both my mental and physical health running rampant in my mind.

My hands pull at my ruined robes as I make my way to the adjacent shower room, the shower consisting of nothing more than a shower head fixed to the stone wall with taps to control the temperature and a tub at its base with just enough room to stand up in.

Having resolved to remove the grime of the wilderness from my skin as soon as possible, I pull the tattered robe off my back and drop it to the ground, my shirt swiftly follows. The water begins to run as hot as I am able to stand it before my shoes trousers and underwear join the growing piles of clothes. Its mere moments before my eyes are closed and I'm ducking under the scolding spray.

I rest my hands against the tiled wall and just relish the feeling of the refreshing water travelling down my back. It runs through my hair and along my face, pooling and dripping off my chin. The liquid at my feet turning a light shade of brown as it quickly dispels the grime from my body.

Slowly I open my eyes and watch the water cascade from my eyebrows and in front of my sight for a moment before pushing it off my face and through my hair with a revealed sigh. Allowing myself to enjoy the cleaning effects of the water before reaching for the soap and scrubbing the remaining dirt from my hair and skin.

The taps squeak in protect as I turn off the scolding spay and reach for a towel, scrubbing it against my face before wrapping it around my upper body and stepping out of the tiny tub.

My fingers grasp the edge of the small sink and I find myself leaning down heavily on them. My eyes are constantly drawn to my forearm which by all rights should at this moment be filled with pain and possibly be set at an odd angle.

My eyes close and I shake my head vigorously to dismiss the thoughts of my healed injuries. It's not as if I can take myself down to the infirmary and ask the resident medi-witch to heal my non-existent wounds. Or complain about being too healthy. 

The palm of my hand flattens against the cool glass of the mirror and whips across it once to clear away the thin line of condensation that has appeared upon its surface. As I look into my distorted reflection the skin along my shoulder catches my attention. Three angry red lines run over my shoulder and along my chest beneath the towel. I don't remember getting scratched.

I run my fingers along the strange marking as I look down at my shoulder. The lines are slightly elevated from the surface of my skin, the colour and texture of them resembling a newly acquired scar. The same markings marry the flesh of my stomach, reaching around to my back and running horizontally around my torso. It is possible that I obtained these marking when I fell from the incline. However if that is the case why is it that these remain on my skin when my broken bones have been healed with no noticeable consequences?

I swallow a nervous lump in my throat and begin to rub the towel over my skin, now knowing I need to get down into the infirmary and find out the origin of these strange scars.

It takes me minuets to dry my skin and dress. Leaving the safety of my room with my hair still damp and ascend the nearest stairs into the heart of the castle. Passing though the Entrance Hall as older students are beginning to rouse from their beds and make their way down for an early breakfast, I keep my eyes on the floor and continue on my mission up the stairs.

I make it unhindered to the doorway of the infirmary before I hear my name and freeze with my hand on the doorknob, I find myself having to remember to keep breathing. My head turns towards the voice and my teeth grind of their own accord. For weeks I've been hoping and praying that she would call out to me. Why does she choose this moment to answer them? "Hello Hermione." I greet politely with a raspy voice.

She slowly approaches, two books clutched tightly against her chest, her eyes on the infirmary doors then slowly shifting towards me. "Is everything alright?"

I feel myself swallow. Do I want to talk to her about this? She's quite possibly the only person who I would feel comfortable discussing my current predicament with. My lips move of their own accord and answer for me, "Everything's fine." Yet still my pride prevents me from opening up to the concerned woman and showing my weaknesses, unwilling to see a shred of either pity or sympathy upon her face.

Her forehead creases in confusion. "Then why are you going to the infirmary?"

My hand snatches away from the doorknob as if it burns my skin and my eyes cast over the doorway. Trying my hardest to feign ignorance of the contents of that particular room. I clear my throat and begin to processes of lying through my teeth. "Must have gotten turned around."

"I see." She doesn't believe me but thankfully does not press the issue. "So you're alright?"

I turn to face her head on, my gaze flicking up to meet hers for just a moment before I drop it to the floor. Unable to find a reason for the concern crossing her features. "I'm fine."

"Good." The air of awkwardness falls around us. She’s shifting from one foot to the other and my hands are balling into fists and pressing deep into my pockets. "So..." She clears her throat, visibly uncomfortable with the silence. "I'd better go."

"Yeah." I step to one side as she passes me by and make to walk past the infirmary until she is a safe distance away. My steps falter and I come to a stop, turning on the spot I call out to her. She thankfully stops and pays me her full attention. "Draco knows." I call along the deserted hallway.

Her mouth drops into a perfect 'O' and her face quickly drains of colour. She steps towards me and drops her voice to a whisper. "How?"

Both of my shoulders tense in a shrug. "I don't know, but he does."

She comes a few steps closer her arms tightening visibly around her books. "You're certain?"  
'Did you ever bring your mudblood out here?' His voice echoes around my mind as I stare past her. Still able to feel the phantom pain from my fall. "Pretty certain."

Her worried eyes land on me and I can feel as she scrutinizes me from head to toe. "Are you okay?" she asks again, this time her voice filled with an urgency which had not been present before.

By all rights I shouldn't be. For all intensive purposes I should still be in the depths of the Forbidden Forest, completely immobile. Left to the mercy of the wilderness as life slowly slips from my grasp. Trying not to think about it I nod. "I'll live." I say with a distracted tone to my voice. My gaze shoots up to catch hers and I step still closer to her and whisper. "He'll hurt you." Last night is proof that he is capable. I watch as she swallows in apparent fear. "If he gets the chance, he'll hurt you." I have no intention to scare her without reason but I cannot leave her defenceless. "Try to stay close to your friends and by the Gods be careful."

She nods slowly at my advice and looks up at me. "Has he hurt you?"

My jaw clenches as I decide how best to answer her. "Apparently, nothing permanent. Just promise me you'll be careful."

"I will, thank you."

I nod at her in a polite gesture as she turns and walks along the corridor. As I watch her back as she slowly walks away from me I make a private oath to the God Nemesis. If he harms one hair on her head I will make him beg for death with the pain I inflict.

Now free of an audience I am able to enter the infirmary unobserved and quietly make my way into the room. All of the beds are currently empty, which is always a good sign and I find myself alone in the large room, my eyes hunting for Madame Pomfrey. 

She startles me when she approaches from behind. "Miss Desay." Every muscle in my body tenses in surprise and I turn to face her. "Another Quidditch injury?" A small vial of some sort of healing potion rests open in her hands.

I offer her a tight lipped smile. Being involved in the sport does dictate my presence here often and I have come to like the mild mannered medi-witch over the months. "Not today." I clear my throat as nerves swell in my chest. "I was wondering. Could you take a look at something for me?"

Her bright smile calms me somewhat; she corks the vial in her hands and makes her way over to one of the many empty bed. "Of course I can dear. It is what I'm here for."

"Great." I say following her, wiping my suddenly sweaty palms against my trouser legs. She draws a curtain around us instructively knowing that this particular query is in need of privacy. "I've got these... These..." I find myself unable to continue even as I gesture to my shoulder, finally resting my palm flat against it. "These marks, I don't know what they are or erm... or how I got them."

She regards me with kind eyes and makes an interested noise in the back of her throat. "I'll need to see them dear."

"Right... of course." Slowly I remove my robes and set them to one side of the bed and quickly undo my school shirt, bearing my skin to her.

After I put my shirt to one side I turn my eyes up towards hers, her brow creased in confusion. "This shoulder?" She asks as she takes it between her cold fingers. I nod to the affirmative as she leans down for a much closer look. "There's nothing there Miss Desay."

"What?" I don't have time to cover the surprise in my voice. The tips of my fingers instinctively seeking of the position of the strange marks, running along my skin where I know they were less than half an hour ago. This is madness. Could I have possibly imagined them as well? "I..." They were there. I know they were there. My fingers run down to my stomach and sure enough the skin there is unblemished and smooth. How on earth is this possible? "I... erm." I can't prove they were ever there and as I look up to the concerned eyes of Madame Pomfrey I fear for my own sanity. "I must have caught myself on something." With a new sense of haste I reach for my shirt and begin to dress myself.

"Are you quite alright?"

I nod franticly, trying to convince myself. "I think so." When the buttons of my shirt are done I reach for my robes all the time her eyes follow my movements, within seconds I am dressed and have pushed back to curtain to leave the infirmary. I throw my thanks for her time over my shoulder and leave the room. Firmly shutting the door behind me. My hand runs over my mouth as I begin to think. What could heal me so quickly? Is there something wrong with me? Was I rescued last night? I know that some healing charms can take longer on open wounds than broken bones. If that is the case then why leave me to the elements on the castle grounds? Or could I possibly have imagined the entire thing?

I glance at my watch and realize that my first lesson is more than an hour from now. I have no stomach for breakfast and no wish to see certain members of my house. So I turn away from the Great Hall and set a course for the library. Determined to research every method of rapid healing in the magical world. Something has to match these symptoms, if the answer is in that library I'll find it.

~~~####~~~~

I’ve found that it is easy to lose yourself in books. I hunt and I scourer the entire library for what feels to only be a short time, before realizing I have missed two lessons when I check the clock above the doorway to discover it is close to midday. 

Without realizing it I have managed to miss Defence Against the Dark Arts, currently a pointless lesson with Professor Umbridge mindlessly reciting from the text book day after day. Dark magic and also defence against it must be practised. Not theorized to death. I have practised dark magic since I was old enough to speak. I would have no need to attend this lesson even if it were more than blindly copying from an old Ministry approved book.

I have also missed a lesson of Ancient Runes, something which requires much more time and dedication from me. Simply because most of the time I fail to understand it. The subject matter becoming more and more confusing as the year progresses, this is confounded with the absence of Hermione to explain some of the more intricate patterns to me.

Presently nothing can be done about it. Books lie open atop more open books. Spread out across the whole of the large table. All open to some sort of passage with regards to rapid healing. Even amongst all of this knowledge I have found nothing. Nothing tangible anyway. There are many spells and charms which can account for this but I have no theories as to who could have cast them. Who would be wondering the Forbidden Forest at that time of night, and who would not immediately send me to the infirmary?

 

There are few creatures of who could be responsible. I briefly considered Phoenix tears. That is until I discovered that I would have to show great loyalty towards its owner. The only man I know who owns such a bird is the headmaster and I don't remember showing any act of loyalty towards the man. I barely know him. The theory does not make sense so I disregarded it.

Then there is Unicorn blood. Yet, apart from a few aches and pains I don't feel detached; I don't feel only half alive. Add that to the fact that I was in no conceivable position to hurt and kill such a beast for a taste of its blood. The fleeting thought was dismissed quickly as ludicrous. Gorgon's blood was also swiftly discounted for the same reasons.

I lean back in my chair in sheer frustration. Each book I look at just tells me the same thing as the one before. Why have so many books if they are just going to repeat themselves? I rest heavily against the back of my chair and reach skywards in a long stretch, smiling in satisfactions as a few of the bones along my spine pop.

"So this is where you've been hiding?"

Cracking one eye open I regard Hermione as she shakes her head at me. Placing her bag on the table over from mine she approaches slowly. "Twice in one day. People will start to talk." I comment easily, hoping to lighten the mood between us.

"You missed two lessons." She says accusingly.

I tilt my head to the side in indifference. Wondering why she would notice such a thing. "Yeah, well..." I lift the book, which has proved to be the most useless from the table and stand to place it back on the shelf. "Umbridge is determined to have us all learn 'Defensive Magical Theory', word for word, cover to cover, which I'm sure I'm capable of doing in my own time."

"And Ancient Runes?" She says, tactfully avoiding her misgivings with Professor Umbridge's teaching methods.

I shrug coming back to my table. "I lost track of time." My hip leans against the tabletop and my arms fold across my chest.

"As I can see." She castes her eyes over the multitude of books cluttering the table. "Big project?"

"Something like that."

She turns one of the books in her direction and I see her eyes quickly scanning the surface. I know that she has had time to read most of the passage before my reflexes kick in and I close the book sharply, barely missing her fingers in my haste. She ignores my actions and instead focuses on what she has just read. "Healing charms?" Concern covers her face as she turns her eyes to me. "You said you were alright."

"I'm fine." I assure her. How can I tell her that it's my lack of injuries which has me worried? "Just a project."

She nods, dejected at my words. Her lips press into a think line and she nods once more in a decisive manor, before saying. "Best leave you to it." She abruptly turns from me, taking a seat at a table and pulling a book from her pack. She opens it to what appears to be a random page and puts hers forehead against her hand hunching over the pages to absorb their knowledge.

I smile sadly at her back. What I wouldn't give to divulge this to her, knowing how amazing her mind can be. I could explain myself and she would know exactly which book I would need to look at. I am certain that she must have read and memorized every single tome on these shelves. Then she might understand my rude, abrupt manor.

She has no idea how many times I have sat and watched her read. Just watched as her eyes danced along the page, her facial expressions changing from word to word as she processes all of the information before her.

I turn towards the books I have laid out. Right now the reason for my good fortune seeming to shrink into insignificance. Her very presence appearing to calm my fears. I feel my bottom lip pull between my teeth, worrying it as I consider my options. My house mates see me as a blood traitor. Information which will leak to their parents and eventually my family. I have very little left in this world to lose. All I would need to do is talk to her.

Something deep inside me begins to compel me to move, dictating my movements as I approach her, almost as if I have no control over my limbs. I do not stop to analyse the compulsion just allow it to steadily carry me to her side.

Slowly I make my way over and take the adjacent seat. Letting her finish her paragraph and giving myself time to think of what I'm going to say. After a very short time she rests her finger against the page, to mark her place and turns to me with questioning eyes. "I..." My pride holds my tongue for a moment and I push it down into my belly needing to get this off my chest. "I miss you Hermione."

A sad smile spreads across her face as she leans back and crosses her arms over her chest. "Don't say that."

"Why not?"

"Because we cannot go back to what we were." Her eyes are pleading with me to let this subject drop. "Whatever that may have been."

I should walk away. I know I should. I have my answer, how else could I possibly damage my ego? I don't know what it is that stops me but I stay rooted to my seat unwilling to let this opportunity pass me by. "What if it were different?"

She takes a moment to consider this. Still resting back, away from me in her seat with her arms folded in a defensive gesture. "How?"

I find myself very close, almost to close, to admitting my true feelings for her. Call it what you will but before this morning I would not have even considered the possibility of revealing that to her. Yet now I find the words on the tip of my tongue, squirming around behind my teeth begging for release. My jaw clenches so tight I can feel it protruding from beneath my skin and I push the new confusing emotion deep into the pit of my stomach.

Her eyes are questioning and I realize I have taken far too long to reply as I battle with myself to decide on exactly what to say. "Would friendship be such a horrible mistake?"

"I don't know." Her shoulders bunch and release slowly. "We were..." She takes a moment and I watch as her eyes dance within their sockets as she chooses the appropriate way to express herself. "We were intimate. I don't know if friendship would be such a good idea."

"Could be a good place to start though."

For the first time in weeks I watch as a genuine smile slowly pulls against the edges of her lips. "Maybe you’re right."


	5. Chapter 5 : Hell Hath No Fury

Chapter 5

The days that followed my miraculous escape from the Forbidden Forest, were filled with times of incessant boredom and self-induced solitude. Aside from the priceless look on Draco's face as I strolled into my potions class that day, none the worse for wear, the day passed and another started. Like each day in the four weeks that followed. I would still return to the library each evening in a desperate hunt for answers. Only to come up fruitless. What ever happened to me that night remains to this very day a secret of the trees.

It was over a week before I received any sort of correspondence from my parents. Even though I had expected it, the thin cold lines of my father's hand cut me to the bone. He stated in no uncertain terms that 'family' was not a word that could be associated between us any longer. There was no scandal, no letting of blood, only the silence that followed his heartless one page letter.

My father's disapproval of not only engaging in a same sex relationship but doing so with a muggleborn was expected. His reaction was much colder that I had anticipated. The strangled silence hurting more than any spell he could have ever cast, any wound he could have inflicted but at the very least an adverse reaction was expected.

Neither my younger brother nor my mother chose to contact me in the wake of his silent anger. In some ways I'm glad. My mother was always the warmer of my two parents. I remember she held pride in her eyes when I announced I had made the Quidditch team. Or the comfort she showed me when I held letter of acceptance to Hogwarts in my young shaking hands all those years ago. My father could order me to the pits of Tartarus and I would willing go to please him. My mother need only to ask, and I would have stumbled there and back to see her smile. Her silence spares me her disappointment but rattles me more than I care to admit. I was certain that she would almost overlook such a flaw in me. That she would continue to tend my wounds as she always had. Yet she has said nothing regarding the matter.

In direct contrast to my parents silence I have spoken via letter with my eldest brother more in the past three weeks than we have spoken throughout my entire life. Dale, for as long as I can remember, has held a deep seething resentment for my father. For the duration of my life, they have avoided each other and angered each other in equal measure. He was sorted into Ravenclaw in his first year and to this day I am certain that he found a way to do so on purpose.

His letters arrive at least once a day in his tight, messy hand writing. The first one came as a shock. Filled with pity towards me, which I immediately resented. He spoke for pages and pages of my father’s misuses of magic and the harsh way he brought us up. He told me he would always be there for me, which I did not believe. That first letter was promptly and graciously ignored but I have found that one of the few traits that Dale has inherited from his father is persistence.

The following day his young, yet still scruffy looking black owl Strix arrived at my morning meal, with two letters proudly held in his beak. Regardless of how many dirty looks I gave the bird and how much I tried to ignore him he would not leave the table. Something of which I can now say from experience is very distracting when you are trying to eat your breakfast.

That morning I eventually took both letters and handed the animal half of my bacon just to stop the jeers and comments being shot in my direction. I shoved them deep into my robes and convinced myself to forget about them. I hadn't realized how heavy two letters could feel and I had read both of them twice before midday.

I was a fool. My brother is truly an amazing man. His take on life appears to be somewhat of a constant jest. His letters are usually already crumpled and smudged when I open them. The contents of them a jumbled mix of endless ramblings and random thoughts, which are not placed on the page in any regimented order. As if he carries the lined piece of paper around in his pocket all day, scribbling down any passing thoughts as they trample through his mind. It is an odd way to communicate but it certainly brightens my day.

He speaks to me of everything. His wife, his job, always stopping to ask me something, sometimes in the middle of a sentence. He knows he must lure answers out of me and on the page it is obvious that is exactly what he is trying to do.

He asks me of school, of my class mates and Hermione. By the Gods he may ask about Hermione but I have no idea how to answer him. Our current relationship is... shaky at best. There is talk of friendship and new bridges to be built. Yet all either of us seem to be capable of is awkward moments in the hall and long quiet sessions in the library, neither of us quite knowing what to say. I had taken to trying to remain passive and silent as much as possible until I have an accurate estimate of her mood or how close her friends may be. Both of which remain a touchy subject for both of us.

The last three days have been difficult in that regard. My own mood shifting from joyous and happy to, within a split second, boiling with rage, or even, once, close to tears. All with no apparent cause. The shifts within my own body, I must confess I have no clue how to handle. I do not ramble with glee and I do not scream in fury. I am passive and I am constant, my emotions very rarely reaching my features let alone my voice as they have recently.

The only true answer I have found is solitude. Waiting for the confusing and sometimes dangerous thoughts and emotions to pass. However school life does prove to hinder this particular answer to my predicament.

Today is the start of the weekend so I have been able to mostly remaining in isolation. Pacing my room's short length feeling trapped. An uncomfortable pressure settling against my throat, feeling akin to a caged lioness unable to hunt.

With no windows as a distraction I walk from the door to my desk and back again, my hands opening and closing painfully with each passing stride. A deep frustration settling deep in my belly, my skin unable to settle, an usual feeling which I am at this time unable to shake. The emotion foreign to me and I find myself at a complete loss with how to rid myself of the unsettling feeling.

My eyes glance over the moss covered walls once more in disgust and my feet pull to a dead stop in the centre of the room. Shaky arms pulling skywards to fist hands in my hair. I feel my shoulders vibrate of their own violation and I push down to overpowering need to scream. Something is happening to me. It may be simple enough that I just cannot stand my own company for another second but all I know is I need to escape these walls.

Something akin to a growl rumbles through my chest, in place of the desired scream and my hands snap out of my hair at the noise. I need to get out of here. Now.

I draw a denim jacket tightly around my shoulders, a muggle item of clothing sent to me by my brother, his reasons for the gift are still unapparent but it is functional and comfortable all the same. I pull harshly on the door and exit into the corridor. This area of the castle is deserted, only the echoing sounds of my own tapered breaths reach my ears. A chill runs through my body and it begins to tremble. My eyes darting up and down the hallway, now I have left my room I find myself at a loss of what I should be doing with my time.

My indecision settles and I feel a deep, almost painful desire to be outside. The reason is unknown to me but the slim chance that being in the open air could somehow ease the tightness, which is starting to settle in my chest pushes my stride forward. Planning the quickest route in my mind to the outer walls of the castle I begin to walk.

My palms settle against the ageing wooden door for but a moment before I push heavily against it. The brisk autumn wind finding me the instant I step foot into the open air, chilling me down to the bone. The air is well worth the chill as I draw breath through my nostrils my eyes slowly sliding closed as pure blessed relief flows freely through my veins. Almost addicted I gulp down another lung full of air and feel my nerves settle just a little. 

I open my eyes towards the dwindling afternoon light and close the door behind me. Never before has the outdoors provoked such a reaction from me. My young life consisting of intense study of dark magic left little time for me to spend away from my father's study.

Drawing my jacket closed and buttoning it against the biting wind, arms draw across my chest and palms rub against biceps to keep my body heat contained. I still do not feel quite myself but I would brave much worse weather for this small amount of uneasy calm.

Feeling the need to keep moving I steadily make my way across the stone courtyard. My trainer covered feet landing heavily on the set cobblestones and the ominous echo of my footfalls meets my ears a moment later. I pass beneath the stone archway and out into the grounds, the site of the open fields seeping more calm into my aching muscles.

I find myself walking aimlessly between the tall blades of grass, just letting myself enjoy the odd feeling of freedom from my walk with the steadily, setting sun at my back. I set a meandering path in the vague direction of the Black Lake with a slow but steady stride allowing my mind to wonder to my current state.

My anger may have settled to a steady, bubbling beneath the surface of my skin, still present and pushing incessantly against the backs of my eyes. It may have tapered from the volatile emotion I felt indoors but is none the less still present. The only solution I currently have at my disposal is the constant grinding of my teeth and the unyielding pressure of nails against my palms.

Pity the poor fool that crosses my path this afternoon.

I reach the edge of the black lake much sooner than I would have liked and without pause for thought direct my stride in the opposite direction of the castle. Not yet ready to face the world inside those walls.

As I walk along the shore, my eyes trained on the still waters of the lake and the darks clouds drawing closed across the sky, blotting out the last dwindling rays of sunlight, my mind as eventful as the murky water's surface. My thoughts kept carefully blank to avoid any violence settling into my stomach. More than once the past few days I have found myself on the verge of striking many of my classmates, another oddity I cannot explain. To strike an adversary physically is both useless and folly when you have perfectly good access to a wand. Any injures that you inflict can be healed in seconds with nothing more than a muttered word and a flick of magic. I know this and the rational part of my brain accepts this, yet I am unable to shake the thought that to lash out with nothing but my bare hands would bring me much more joy and fulfillment.

A single drop of rain falls and lands in the centre of my crown. The feeling and sound echoing around my skull takes a moment in my hazy state to register. My feet halt beneath me and I turn my face to the sky. My eyelids flinching as more droplets of water descend to join their brother. It takes seconds for the downpour to start and I am soaked to the skin in moments.

Thick sheets of rain cover the ground, I see little point in rushing to the cover of the castle being already socked through and still unwilling to step under the threshold. I know the moment I do the hideous sense of claustrophobia will begin to descend upon my psyche.

So with a deep breath of moist air I lower my gaze to the floor. Shaking the excess water from my face and pushing my hands deep into my pockets to protect them from the elements. The solemn weather begins to match my mood. The vicious cuts of icy water pounding down upon my tight shoulders and bowed head as I make a steady retreat to the cover of the school.

I push open the large main doors with a grave sense of foreboding settling within my chest. The moment the door closes behind me, the itching in my skin returns. I run my palm across my face and over my hair to clear the uncomfortable liquid which has gathered on my skin, casting my gaze over the deserted main hall.

I stand stock still, water dripping from by body and soaking the stone floor beneath my feet. Slowly my eyes ghost along the many staircases and come to rest upon one in particular. I could simply walk up those stairs and along a small passage to the north wing of the castle. To Gryffindor Tower. I feel as though I am going to start clawing at my very skin if I must spend just one moment alone and my only friend lies just up that staircase.

She would not see me as weak for seeking her company. She would not see my current state of attire and have pity in her eyes. She would simply be who she is. I think I could almost endure the awkward silences and unsure remarks if I could just hear the sounds of another's breathing within the same room.

I almost take that path. Almost climb those stairs. Until my own body betrays me. I can still feel the incessant rage still bubbling and steadily beginning to boil. The stone walls which once held so much comfort and security begin to feel overbearing. As much as the thought of spending the evening in her company appeals to me, I cannot and will not use such time to vent my frustrations and this is something I fear I would do inadvertently.

So my sights set once more to the descending stairs and make my way beneath the ground. With each footfall the knot in my chest tightens and my shoulders bunching against the ache.  
I decide to make a pass of the underground tunnels of the castle before returning to the confinement of the quarters, unwilling to feel like a caged animal in my own home just yet. I consciously slow my pace until I feel the unpleasant ache in the backs of my calves, savouring these last few minutes.  
It takes me a moment to notice her. The one person in the whole building I was purposefully trying to avoid, sparing her my volatile mood. She turns the corner ahead of me and makes her way towards me.

The smile on her face shows me she is pleased to have met me in her travels. "Jamie... you’re soaked." For the sake of politeness I halt my movements and meet her eyes with mine. My jaw clenching painfully and my shoulders bunching yet further I nod in affirmation with regards to her obvious statement. The kind smile instantly drops from her face and is replaced by a worried frown. "What's the matter."

I feel myself swallow heavily. "Nothing." As I speak my lip lifts in a sneer and a rumble, which is dangerously close to a growl threads its way through my voice. Even as the word leaves my lips I chastise myself for allowing my emotions to show upon my face.

She lifts a single disbelieving eyebrow at my less than convincing rebuttal. "Nothing?" Her eyes cast over my trembling muscles and I see a glint of fear behind them. "I've never seen you like this before."

My eyes feel glazed and begin to ache and I quickly pull them away from her face. Looking anywhere but at her. "I've never felt like this before." My voice is still disturbingly low and menacing. I hadn't meant for the truth to slip from between my lips. Yet there they stand in the stale air between the two of us and I have no explanation for their presence. She takes a tentative step towards me reaching out to touch my shoulder and I flinch as her fingertips graze my jacket. "Don't touch me." I don't know why I said it. More importantly I don't know why I cannot bear to have her fingers upon my flesh, when it is a feeling I have craved since the moment it had be removed from my life.

Her fingers clasp slowly as she holds her arm out between us. "What happened?"

I regard her through heavy lidded eyes and answer between tightly gritted teeth. "Nothing. I have been. Like this. For days." The breaks in my sentence punctured by laboured breathes I take trying in vain to push down the tight knot resting against my chest.

She withdraws her outstretched limb. "How many days?" She asks her face becoming pale.

Try as I might I am unable to keep both the sneer off my face and the growl from my voice. "Does it matter?"

She nods slightly and glances at her watch. "It may."

"Why?"

I watch as her mouth opens to answer, before she can even draw breath my eyelids snap shut and I feel as the sun shows its last rays of light over the horizon and sets. I am just about to ponder how I can feel such a thing two floors below ground level and with the hammering rain, high in the sky when a scream of agony is ripped from my throat. My voice echoing back at me from down the long empty corridors.

My fingers grasp at my jacket and pull the buttons open to find the source of the unexpected pain. My ragged breaths meet my ears as another bout of pain coils in my belly and rips through every nerve ending in my body. The force pitches me forwards to bended knee as another cry of pain is ripped from deep within my chest.

I see her through heavy lidded eyes approach me once again reaching out for me. I hold out one hand to stop her and cry as more pain pushes through me. "Don't touch me!" My jacket begins to feel too tight against my shoulders and I struggle to get my arms free of the confining material. As it slips from my body my shoulders bunch impossibility tight pulling my arms skywards, my fingers hooked but my palm open near my face as each of my muscles tense in unison, fighting each other for dominance and pulling at my skin as more shouts of suffering echo down the hallway.

"Jamie let me help you!" She shouts over the roaring in my ears.

My muscles contact still further and my back begins to bend backwards my other knee landing on the stone floor to meet its brother. "What's happening..." My breath catches as I feel my throat close and I try to push air though my windpipe to allow me to speak. The pressure releases after just a moment leaving terrible pain in its wake. "...To me?"

"I think..." She is cut off by more of my anguished screams and I see her shake off its effects to be able to continue. "I think you're transforming."

Terror meets pain beneath my breast and I snap my eyes in her direction. My jaw forced open by contracting muscles and the edge of my vision begin to glow with an unnatural golden haze. "Into what?" The current state of my body forcing me to pitch my voice to a low whisper.

Even through the pain I see a lone tear slide down her cheek "I'm so sorry." Quickly she rubs at her face with the sleeve of her robe and her eyes dart around our surroundings. "We need to get you somewhere safe." She stands and dashes to a nearby classroom and pulls harshly on the door. After finding it locked she wastes no time in pulling her wand from her robes and aiming towards the lock. "Alohomora." It unlocks with a click and she throws her shoulder against the surface pushing the heavy wooden door open wide.

She quickly tucks her wand back into her robes and darts over to me hooking her hands under my arms and pressing my trembling shoulders against her chest, beginning to drag me along the floor.

My throat closes and I quickly begin to choke, my shaking hands passing into my view. I both see and hear as the bones begin to break of their own accord beneath my skin, pulling together tighter, and elongating. Thick sprouts of brilliant, white fur begin covering the backs of my hands and slowly travel up my arm. I feel my eyes open in shock and she sets my convulsing body down onto the floor.

I feel her rummage in my back pocket and make a hasty retreat behind the heavy door. Her sorrow filled eyes finding mine. "I'm so sorry."

The door closes and I hear the lock click into place before one final scream is torn from my throat and my whole world turns black.


	6. Chapter 6: In The Cold Light of Day

Chapter 6

The first thing I notice is my own bated breathing. It's slow and steady with a wheezing with each and every inhale. The shallow noise is the only indication in my fogged mind that I have returned to conciseness. Slowly my other senses begin to return to me. My mouth tastes dry, my tongue feels heavy and every part of me is cold. The unique scratch of stone pushes against my bare chest and I feel my forehead knot in confusion above my still closed eyes. I don't really remember undressing.

With a great deal of effort I pull saliva into my mouth through my glands and swallow the liquid, hoping to sooth my raw scratchy throat. Sighing with relief I drag my eyelids open, only for the slow lazy moment to turn urgent the moment my gaze meets the room. Snapping open to let it as much light as possible, not quite able to believe what it is I am seeing. 

What have I done?

The room I find myself in once resembled a classroom. The upturned splintered desks are evidence of that. Large deep gouges mark each stone wall, always four in parallel lines. The stone in one section must have given way to me as it now lies in a crumbled pile of rubble on the floor. A single patch of floor fairing far worse than the rest of the room, numerous scratch marks marry its surface, great lumps of rocks missing and tossed carelessly to the floor. As if the feeble attempts of a huge desperate rabbit, burrowing into the ground.

My face presses flat against the dust and the rubble, each of my breaths throwing a plume of it into the air, making me cough as I inhale. Every muscle tender and every nerve ending screams in protest against the pain inflected from the small irrepressible reaction. 

I had hoped I had imagined it all. All the pain as my body rebelled again me. My hands changed in front of my very eyes. Noting more than a terrifying nightmare, conjured from within the deep, dark recesses of my mind.

I know what I am now. I know secrets those tress have been keeping from me, shrouded in the darkness they cast upon the world. What I cannot understand is why I don't bare the scars. 

Fighting against protesting muscles I bring my palm to the rubble covered floor and slowly push my chest from the cold stone. My arms begin to shake with the exertion and I settle for simply pushing myself over onto my back, softly crying out as I hit the floor hard, every bone and tendon in my body complaining against both the movement and the bitterly cold flooring.

Both of my hands come up to scrub at my face harshly in a feeble attempt to push the fog out of my mind and I have to restrain myself from thinking about watching them change right before my eyes. A sickening sense settling against my belly and my skin begins to crawl as I think about the implications of it all.

I shake my head roughly. I refuse to think about that right now. My current concern is that I appear to be locked in a destroyed classroom wearing nothing but my skin. I reach my hands above my head and whimper as I stretch some of the ache out of them. Both shoulder joints popping with the movement offering some small degree of relieve against the constant ache of my body. I feel my biceps burn in protest but continue none the less and find that my pain is justified, as the action pushes a small amount of the ache from my limbs.

With great effort and much groaning I push myself up into a sitting position resting on my flat hands behind me casting another glance around the room. My manipulation and lying methods may be good but not even I could talk myself out of this situation. I have quite literally destroyed the place without any memory of the actions.

Through sheer force of willpower I force myself to my feet, blinking my tired eyes as I make my way over to the wall. The tips of my fingers settle along the deep gouges I find there running in a swirling pattern deeply engraved into the stone. Yet more dust pushes away as I stand transfixed, my fingers slowly playing across the markings, following each line, trying to ignore the vague sense of déjà vu. Whether it’s my imagination or a flash of memory I don’t know, but I feel anger in the back of my mind as I run my fingers over the stone.

Taking a deep breath I rest my forehead against the wall. My father is going to kill me. He may have shown me nothing but his cold shoulder in the last few months but when he finds out about this he is actuality going to kill me. I am not exaggerating. A blood traitor in the family is one thing. What I am now is nothing short of an abomination.

I turn my body resting my shoulders tightly in the corner. My knees buckling, I relish the pain as my back scratches down the stone. My arms crossing, resting against my bent knees and I allow my head to slowly fall onto them.

My breath begins to become shaky and harsh as my body begins to tremble. My life will never, can never be the same again. My physiology has changed dramatically and I must change with it in order to survive the prejudices that are certain to lay in my future.

I am pulled from the steadily depressing train of thought as I hear the click at the door indicating it has been opened. My eyes snap to the surface of the wood in surprise then franticly scan the floor for any indication as to the location of my wand. I know that it was tucked safely in my back pocked when I started to transform. However my jeans now lay in tatters scattered across the large room. I could have destroyed it. As my eyes sweep over the splintered remains of the old oak desk I realize I have no hope of both locating it and obtaining it before the door is pushed open.

Shifting my footing I pull my feet yet closer to my body, drawing my knees closer to defend my modesty, hoping that just this once I could be sucked into the stone wall and hidden from sight.  
The door opens with a loud squeak and I hear the gasp of surprise before I see the familiar figure of Hermione as she enters the room. Upon seeing her face as she slowly enters the room I relax just a fraction. Unsure as to whether she would hold the same prejudices as the rest of the magical community.

She slowly appraises the room and when her eyes finally land on me she offers me a small humourless smile. "Good morning."

"Is it?" I ask pushing the heel of my palm deep into my eyes socket. "I don't feel like I've slept at all."

She shakes her head coming closer to me; a long black cape draped over one arm. "In all honestly I don't think you did." She ignores the crease folding through my forehead. She pulls the cape from her arm and drapes it over her shoulder. Beneath it on her arm she uncovers a few other items she has brought with her, consisting of a small pile of clothing and a brown paper bag. She places them on the floor close to my feet and pulls the cape from around her shoulder unravelling its length. Leaning forward she pushes the edges around my shoulders, warming my skin and protecting my modesty.

I grip onto the material and try to drape it tighter around my back in an attempt to shield my skin from the cold wall. "Thanks." As I offer this my gaze glides to her face. The first thing I notice is the concern in her eye, the second is the deep shadows under them. She looks almost as fatigued as I currently feel. "How long have you been up?"

She shakes her head with a small smile reaching between her robes. "Haven't been to sleep yet." She draws another packet of paper from beneath the folds of her robes and snaps the contents. "Here eat this." The pulls out a strip of brown chocolate and holds it out for me to take. At my raised eyebrow she continues. "It helps. Honestly."

I'm more than a little dubious but I still extract one arm from beneath my cape and after making sure it is secure against my chest I reach out and take the sugary treat from her fingers. As I turn it in my hand, trying to decide if my churning stomach can handle the rich food, she brushes away rubble from the floor at my side and takes a seat against the wall next to me. She draws her feet close and rests her arms on her bent knees. "Why haven't you been to sleep?" I ask trying to break the uneasy silence between us.

I see as her eyes close and she rests her head back against the stone. "You weren't exactly quiet last night."

"You could hear me from the north tower?" I ask, casting my eyes around the destruction of the room. Tentatively I take a small bite of the offered chocolate and relish in my surprise. As it touches my lips I feel my bunched muscles relax and warmth seep into them.

"You thought I'd leave you down here?" As I glance at her I see that her eyes are carefully directed away from me. I thought I'd heard something in her low voice. I blink a few times and disregard the niggling feeling in the back of my mind. It must have been my imagination. She quickly clears her throat and changes the subject. "Hungry?"

I tactfully drop the discussion of where she has spent the night if not in her quarters and answer truthfully. "Famished."

She leans forward and retrieves the paper pack from atop of the folded piles of clothing and hands it to me. "I brought you some clothes as well. You changed all of your wards so I brought some of mine. They may not be your size."

What she doesn't know is since my night in the forest I have changed the password on my door almost daily in paranoia. I had found that it was the only way I could get myself to sleep. However the sentiment itself takes me off guard. Not only did she think about what I might need this morning she went out of her way to retrieve them. Travelling first to my quarters then almost clear across the castle to her own. I catch myself blinking at her in surprise as she keeps her gaze steadily away from me. I make no effort to remove the emotion of gratitude from either my face or my voice. "Thank you, Hermione."

Her lips curl slightly and she ducks her head, once again smoothly changing the subject. "Eat your breakfast."

I follow her instructions, pulling my other arm from beneath the cloak and unwrapping the parcel to find a bacon sandwich within it. Leaning forward I take a large bite from it and savour the taste of it in my mouth, chewing on it slowly. Already I feel better to have something warm in my belly. As I take another bite I am conscious of her remaining very still at my side and offer her the other half of my small breakfast.

"No, thank you. I've already eaten." She graciously refuses and silently, I am grateful for it, quickly devouring one half as we sit in comfortable silence. As I pull the second half from its confinement she continues to speak. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Tired." I answer truthfully in an instant. I then take a moment to analyse my inner calm. I hadn't noticed it before but the pounding rage appears to have all but left my body. "Better... more like myself."

"I'm glad." She says and I can see her mind working behind her eyes. She chews on her bottom lip as she decides exactly what she wants to say to me. I, for my part, remain in silence. I have spent enough time with her to know the look on her face. To interrupt her thoughts would fluster her and she would then have difficulty expressing herself. "There’s a few things we have to talk about." I make a small noise behind a mouthful for her to continue. "Professor Snape knows about all of this." She says quickly.

At her words I freeze, the last mouthful of food held inches from my mouth. "How?" My heart begins to beat rapidly in my throat. Had the declaration been about any other of the school’s many staff I don't think my reaction would have been so debilitating. Snape is a death eater, my father made no secret of that fact. One of The Dark Lords inner circle, his influence and prejudices should logically follow that of my family. Under that assumption my father may not have to put himself out to end my life after all.

I wait impatiently for her response as she shifts on the uncomfortable floor. Of all the staff she could have gone to for aid Snape would have been the last on the list. She and all her house hold no love for the Potions Master and I can see on her face that she is also not pleased with him being in possession of this information. "He sleeps in the dungeons Jamie. He heard you." She turns her head and pins me in place with her gaze. "He wanted to speak to you, when you woke up."

Fear settles uneasily over my body and I nod. "Will you go with me?" I ask hoping that having her as witness will lift some of the danger without placing her in any unnecessarily.

"I wasn't going to give you a choice in that. I've also been to see Professor Dumbledore this morning. He agreed to be present for the conversation."

"Were you always this smart?" I ask as ease washes over me. The ominous presence of the headmaster would offer a large degree of comfort.

She can only smile at me and tells me to quickly get dressed, leaving the rooms to offer me some privacy.

I swiftly find that she was correct in her assumptions of our differing sizes. I am at the very least a head taller than Hermione and the trousers she has brought me are evidence of this, the hem resting half way up my calves. Add this to the fact that her hips are of a much more feminine shape than my own and I find myself hitching them up and over my pelvic bone with every few steps. Her knitted jumper is also testament to my height advantage, the sleeves resting tightly around my forearms and the hem falling an inch higher than the waistband of the jeans, exposing a small portion of my midriff. 

All in all I feel very uncomfortable in her attire and request a diversion to my own chambers so I am able to change.

After splashing a large helping of freezing water over my face and changing into some fresh, better fitted cloths, I allow her to lead me down the dark damp hallways beneath the school. My nerve faltering as we reach the door to the Potions classroom. Before my body begins to tremble she places her hand against my forearm and I turn to face her. "Don't be scared."

I nod, swallowing the painful lump in my throat and before I can retreat completely, push against the heavy door. Stepping further into the room I feel two sets of eyes resting on me. Both of the professors had been hunched over the teacher’s desk before my entrance and immediately fall silent, straightened up in the wake of my intrusion. "Miss Desay." It is Dumbledore who speaks first. I can see his blue eyes dancing from across the room. "Please come in." 

Hermione follows close behind me as I edge my way between the desks to come closer to the two professors. My gaze starts with Snape's feet as he shuffles them, then slowly rises to meet his harsh black eyes. The look upon his face is nothing like I would have expected. I had expected a deep seething hatred to have settled across him. I expected him to hold contempt for what I have now become. Instead all I see is pity and concern, a deep frown of worry settling across his forehead.  
His dementia deeply unnerves me as I slowly lower myself into one of the chairs provided. Lowering my gaze and hunching my shoulders over as I wait for someone to speak. Hermione stands at my side, oozing confidence I wish I could feel. 

Dumbledore stays at the Potion Master's large ornate desk as its owner comes closer to me. He rests his long fingers against the desk directly in front of mine and takes the seat before it, turning it around and resting his elbows on the desk I have occupied. His long bony forefinger stretches against his thin pierced lips. His hand curling into a loose fist and he rests the weight of his head upon it. 

I keep my eyes carefully trained on the grains in the wooden desk. His face may show concern but I am uncertain as to how much is fabricated for the benefit of the Headmaster and the Gryffindor Prefect present. By showing him submission I hope to gain a little favour. "In spite of everything it is good to learn that you choose your friends wisely."

Leaning back in my chair to put as much distance between the two of us as etiquette will allow I bring my eyes to meet his. "I'm sorry?" I say, disbelieving that I have heard him correctly.

"Miss Granger kept a very close eye over you almost all of last night. Although I do not condone disobedience in students..." He glances up and her with a meaningful look before continuing. "Such dedication is an unusual and very desirable trait in the company one keeps." I'm unsure if I should take this as a compliment. "Now. Tell me how this happened."

I swallow heavily; I hadn't expected to be confronted with this particular question quite so quickly. I clench my jaw and remain still. The silence stretches out between us and it doesn't look as though he is going to continue this conversation until I answer. I pull a quick shrug across my shoulders. "I don't know."

"A month ago you were not a werewolf." I flinch from him so violently it pushes the chair I am sitting on over and me to my feet. Until this moment I had not even allowed myself to think of the word and as it hangs in the air turning stale I feel I must physically distance myself from it. He follows my, admittedly extreme, reaction with a turn of his head. "You are aware of this are you not?"

I nod my head to the affirmative than quickly change my mind as I shake it violently. "It's not possible. I don't have any scars." I felt the pain of every bone breaking and knitting itself together in the space of seconds. I saw thick white fur sprout from the back of my hands. Yet still I feel the need to cling to the vague notion that this cannot be possible. That I cannot be what I know I am just due to this small inconsistency.

"And yet you transform into a wolf under the light of the full moon."

"Severus." The headmaster interrupts his hand open and outstretched to try to appease Snape.

"Please. Let Miss Desay finish."

Snape nods once in respect and all eyes are once again on me. "There are no scars. No scars mean no scratches. With no scratches no..." I stop, still unable to put voice to the word. I swallow once and scowl. Even as I venomously deny the possibility, my hand unconsciously raises to rest against my shoulder. There were scratches. I've been researching their disappearance for weeks. My knowledge of... this disorder is, I confess, not vast by any stretch of the imagination but the lingering scars of any first encounter are common knowledge.

Dumbledore strokes his long beard in thought, a soft sound of concentration emitting from his vocal cords. "That is not to say, they were never present."

"No." I admit, feeling the defeat resting in my voice.

"This is most peculiar." The headmaster's bright eyes slide away from me to land on Snape's back. "Would you not say so Severus?"

He shakes his head. "There are many varying forms of lycanthropy. History documents them but we have been unable to study many of them simply due to the rarity of the condition." The potions master leans back in his chair crossing his arms across his chest. "To add to these complications, each strain of the condition is unique in some way. It mutates and binds with each individual which is a very large part as to why we know so little about werewolves." I visibly flinch at the word again and he completely ignores this. "The symptoms you describe would indicate that the one who sired you may have been from a very old race of werewolves." I unconsciously take a step back; he doesn't even pause for breath at my reaction "Or alternatively you could be something completely new." His eyes glide over me with the air of a scholar. He's gaze, cold and calculating, as if he could learn something new about the disease from just my appearance.

I scratch against my scalp then pull my arms tight against my chest in unease. "I'm sorry Professor, I can see this fascinates you but it doesn't exactly make me feel any better." He immediately takes his eyes from me and casts them to the ground. I catch Hermione's eye and feel gratitude for her silence in this discussion, just remaining present for moral support. "What happens now?"

Snape keeps his eyes carefully trained away from me. "To return to my original question, how did this happen?"

"I don't know." My original answer may have been defensive but it was still truthful. "I was deep in the Forbidden Forest in the evening. When I woke up it was sunrise and I was in the grounds."

"Why were you in the Forest?" The headmaster says without a hint of disapproval in his voice. "It is named Forbidden for a good reason Miss Desay."

"Please don't ask me that." He tilts his head in question and I continue. "I'm only going to lie to you."

He smiles at me and accepts my answer. "Very well. We will need to report this incident to the Ministry..."

"Wait! What? Why?" My father works at the ministry, to inform them would be like handing this information to him on a platter.

Snape answers for him. "All incidents such as this must be reported to the Ministry of Magic. All reports are to be treated in the strictest confidence." I raise both of my eyebrows for a moment in disbelief, having Umbridge shadowing over us as a constant Ministry presence doesn't exactly elect much confidence. "I'm afraid that it cannot be avoided. We are legal obligated to inform them of your condition and the circumstances surrounding it. For the present I would advise that you contact your family." I nod at this already decided that Dale is the only member of my family that will be receiving a letter. "On the night before the next full moon you will report to my office for a draft of Wolfsbane. By then we should have somewhere more permanent where you will be able to transform."

I offer him another nod as the headmaster steps forward to save me from any more of this. "I think that will be all for now Severus. I think it's time both of you got some much needed rest."

I run a shaky hand through my hair and start a hasty retreat out of the classroom, thanking them both on my way out, Hermione just half a step behind.

She graciously walks me to my chambers and says a softly spoken 'good night' before heading off in the direction of the tower.

After speaking my password and entering my room, I cross the room and fall onto my bed still fully clothed and fall into the realm of Morpheus almost before my head hits the pillow.


	7. Chapter 7: The Lion and The Serpent

Chapter 7

It's not long after my first transformation, until the first Saturday of November rolls around. Which can only ever mean one thing, Quidditch. Practices are one thing but games, they're something else. After the past few weeks have been filled with nothing but unwanted surprises, it would be nice to be able just forget about them for a few hours as we battle against Gryffindor.

I haven't really slept all that much today. I woke at the crack of dawn and have been itching to get out of my chambers from the moment my eyes opened. To hyped up and anxious to get on that pitch, start scoring some goals against Ronald Weasley. I still haven't forgiven him for walking in on me and Hermione that day, so it would be nice to be able to get a little bit of payback. It's petty and probably beneath me, which incidentally doesn't make it any less enjoyable.

After showering and dressing in loose jeans and a t-shirt I make my way towards the doorway. I have to change into my armour anyway so there's not really much point in getting dressed up in my house colours. 

As I open the door something scrapes across the stone flooring, catching on an indentation and halting its progress, I have to push the door closed to investigate what it is. On my floor there is a small silver badge cut into the shape of a crown. 'Wesley Is Our King' neatly inscribed on its surface. I turn it over once and expect it to do something. Change in some way by magic but I am rewarded with nothing. Why would someone push this under my doorway? I can only assume it is in reference to Ron and not his two brothers, only because he is the newest member of their team. Is it an underhanded tactic to rattle my confidence?

Pondering this while making my way down the hallway and up the spiral staircase I palm the small mysterious item. Making my way to the Entrance Hall, which is already buzzing with life, I manage to hear above the din my name being called. Turning towards the voice and instantly feeling the smile on my face as Hermione approaches. "Morning." She says excitedly, for someone who once called Quidditch barbaric she does make an effort when one of the many games of the school season comes around. Her red and gold scarf testament to that.

"Morning." I greet her, showing my teeth in a wide smile at her enthusiasm. My forefinger lightly touches the rosette on the chest of her thick coat. "You certainly get into the school spirit these days."

She ducks her head as a dusting of pink covers her cheeks, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, which immediately comes loose and falls in front of her eyes. "It's Ron's first game. I'm showing support." She says shyly in way of explanation. Conversation between us has become somewhat easier in the wake of my episode down in the dungeons. The horrible secret between the two of us giving us something to discuss if nothing else. We've spent a great deal of time in the library researching and discussing the possible differences between my condition and what can be perceived as normal. The result has been that we are much more relaxed in each other’s company. This one subject breaking the icy tension and opening the field of discussion to other areas of life.

"Speaking of Weasley..." I tactfully ignore the roll of her eyes and open my palm, unfolding the small crown shaped broach to her inspection. "Is this anything to do with you Gryffindors?"

She takes the small object and turns it a few times, letting the light catch off it during her examinations. "Weasley is our king'" She recites. "No, I would say not. Must be a Slytherin thing."

She hands me back the broach and I hold it flat in my palm. "Be nice if someone told me about these things." I say a little surprised and more hurt than I'm willing to admit from the exclusion. I'm on the team. Shouldn't that get me some sort of free pass to be involved with Quidditch propaganda? I bring my gaze up to meet hers with a quirk in my eyebrow. "Nice to be in the loop."

"Do me a favour and don't show that to Ron." I smile and nod at her. It's not like it will be a difficult promise to keep. I barely know the boy. "Thank you."

The conversation is interrupted by a third party. A girl only slightly shorter then myself all red hair and deep scowls. "Is everything alright Hermione?" She glares pointedly in my direction and I suddenly feel very uncomfortable in my own skin.

Hermione remains clueless to the irate tone in the new comer’s voice. "Everything's fine Ginny." I am honestly starting to think that it doesn't matter where I go, I'm going to be surrounded by Weasleys. "Why do you ask?" Ginny lifts her chin in my direction in silent indication, filling me with an intense desire to step back from her penetrating glare. Realization suddenly dawns on Hermione. "Oh. How rude of me. Ginny this is Jamie, Jamie this is Ginny."

Both of our heads turn towards her at the same moment with wide surprised eyes. Is she honestly giving introductions? My eyes squint slightly and my forehead creases. She is able to cover it up very well but her actions appear to run far deeper than to simply alleviate the tension. She's introducing me to her friends. Expanding the boundaries of our friendship by including her own. I am never one to turn down bread crumbs when a relationship such as this one is heading in the right direction. So with all of the politeness I can muster I hold out my hand for her to shake. "Pleasure to meet you Ginny."

Hermione practically beams at me for taking her marginally subtle hint and Ginny's face turns slowly back to me. Her mouth agape to accompany her wide eyes. Her lips trying to form words but no sound emanates from her. Hermione stepping in nudges her friend in the shoulder and uses her head and eyebrows to gesture in my direction. The action seems to push the redhead out of her shock and she slowly takes my hand in hers. "Yeah." She still looks over me dubiously, as if at any moment I am likely to throw a hex her way. "Likewise." Awkwardly we separate and she gives me a final look up and down before turning her full attention to Hermione. "Have you seen my brothers?"

Hermione shakes her head. "Not this morning. They were gone before I got up. I assume they've gone for breakfast." Feeling out of place in the conversation I touch Hermione's arm and excuse myself. Only able to make a few steps before I feel pressure against my wrist, I turn and rest my eyes on her fingers encircling my wrist then bring them up to catch her gaze in question. She lets her tongue peek out to wet her lips as she quietly speaks. "Why don't you come and meet Ron and Harry?"

I feel myself blink a few times in stunned silence. An off chance introduction to her best friend's sister is one thing but for her to go out of her way to acquaint me with her closest friends is something that I wasn't prepared for. I can see by the look in her eye, she is nervous. I seriously consider refusing her offer but fear that if she doesn't introduce us now she might lose her nerve and I will have lost my chance. Forcing my head I nod in silent acceptance. She begins to pull me in the direction of the Great Hall. I am highly, conscious of her fingers on my skin but do not draw attention to it, even as I pull level and she continues to chat aimlessly with the youngest Weasley.

The din of chatter intensifies as we enter the Great Hall and she pulls me to a stop at the Gryffindor house table. Ginny immediately goes to her brother. "How are you feeling?" She asks. In my opinion he's looking so intently at the dregs of milk from his cereal that he must be seriously considering drowning himself in it.

Harry answers for him, albeit distractedly as his attention is focused on Hermione's hand, which is still gripping my wrist. "He's just nervous."

Hermione watches his line of slight and takes her digits from my skin as if I burned her. She clears her throat and shifts from one foot to the other in a nervous manner. I have to bite on my lip to keep my laughter in check. Taking pity on her, and already knowing where this interaction is heading, I lean forward holding my palm out for him to take. "Jamie. Nice to meet you."

In shock at my show of confidence he takes my hand and shakes it once. "Right." After a few blinks, his shocked expression is pulled away from me and directed over my shoulder. I deep frown covers his forehead. "What the hell?"

In sheer curiosity I turn my head to look over my shoulder and my eyes once again open wide, stunned at what I see before me. "Okay..."

Almost all eyes are on the girl who has just entered the hall. Her white blond hair a striking contrast to the very realistic loin head sitting precariously atop of her own. She appears to glide over to the small group that has gathered around the marginally suicidal Weasley boy and greets them with a very dreamy "Hello." She even graces me with a distant smile as I stare open mouthed at her strange choice of head gear. "I'm supporting Gryffindor. It's good isn't it." As I distractedly bob my head in her direction she reaches up and triggers the damned thing. It lets lose a fearsome, very realistic roar, making everyone in the immediate vicinity jump and even I take a cautious step back. "I wanted to have it chewing on a serpent to represent Slytherin. No offence."

"None taken." It's ingenuous, absolutely brilliant. Even though I personally would prefer not to be chewed on by an almighty lion there is no denying the splendour of the mascot.

She nods still with that almost disturbing smile on her face and makes her way over to the Ravenclaw table, taking the time to wish Ron, good luck as she passes. His only answer is to hunch his shoulders over even more and wrap his arms around his torso.

"Who was that?" I ask while everyone around me is still reeling from the encounter.

"That..." Ginny gestures over her shoulder while sitting next to her brother and pouring herself a goblet of pumpkin juice. "That was Luna."

"Lovegood?" Ginny nods in reply behind the rim of her goblet. I turn my gaze to Hermione with a raised eyebrow. "You have some weird friends." She offers me a tight lipped smile of embarrassment before bobbing her head up and down. My eyes stray to the lion’s head which is standing much taller than any other students head. I'd never really given anyone much of my time who I considered strange in any way but after this interesting encounter I might have to rethink that.

Angelina Johnson suddenly appears at Harry's side with a thick air of urgency about her. "When you're ready, we're heading down to the pitch to check of the conductions and the change." She notices me and sends a seething look in my direction, which makes me want to run and hide under my bed. I'm damned glad that she's not my captain.

"We'll be down in a bit." Harry tells her, turning to his friend and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Ron just needs to have some breakfast."

"On that note I'd better go. Montague will have my hide if I'm late."

Harry regards me with a nod, holding his hand out again for me to take. "See you on the pitch." I take his hand in mine and I am infinitely surprised by what he says next. "It really was nice to meet you."

"Likewise. And Ron," he takes his eyes from his bowl to look over at me, turning an interesting shade of grey as he does. "Good luck out there."

He offers me a short thanks and a shaky wave of his hand before I turn on my heel, taking special note of the wide toothy grin Hermione has thrown in my direction as I quickly escape the chaos of the Great Hall.

I make my way over the thin layer of frost covering the ground to the changing rooms for the Slytherin team. Lowering my gaze and ignoring the sneers and derogatory jeers from my team mates, I make a beeline for my locker. Quickly removing my personal effects and slipping quietly into my armour while simultaneously and religiously ignoring everyone else in the room. Including Montague as he goes over the strategies for what must be the thousandth time for the benefit of the less than learned members of the team. To this day I cannot understand why each captain insists on putting the most stupid brutes in the beater position. Granted both Crabbe and Goyle have a good swing but they lack any sort of tactical intuition and don't always look completely confident on their brooms. The influence behind it is of course Draco but one would think that even he would be able to see how unwise it is having them both defending us from the charmed balls.

I pull the laces on my gauntlets tighter with the aid of my teeth just as Montague finishes one of his more boring pep talks in his dreary monotone voice. He leads us out onto the pitch, reaching its centre just as the Gryffindor players start to file out of their own changing rooms.

Both Crabbe and Goyle immediately begin to swing their beaters bats around in what I assume they perceive to be a threatening manner. In truth the uncoordinated morons look more like a couple of apes who have been given a new toy. Taking a glance to my left I see Draco tapping a silver badge upon his chest, which looks exactly like the one slipped under my door this morning, with a menacing look on his face directed at the other team. What in the name of Hera is he up too?

I am pulled from my thoughts as Madame Hooch orders both captains to shake hands in the centre of the pitch. As Montague tries to squeeze Johnson's hand so tight it breaks the bones I notice another one of the strange, silver badges on his chest. I suddenly feel very out of the loop. What are these new mascots? And further more why is Weasley our king?

I quickly mount my broom and take to the sky as the snitch and the bludgers are released. The whistle is sounded and the quaffle is thrown into the air. Johnson is the first to catch it. Ducking below our defensive line, I pull my broom into a quick dive and make a break to chase her as she heads for our goal posts, narrowly missing being hit from behind by a bludger that Goyle sends in our direction. It glances Johnson on the shoulder and she drops the ball right into my waiting hands.

Quickly I turn my broom around a hundred and eighty degrees, taking the time to scowl at Goyle for the near miss and take off at speed towards the Gryffindor goalposts keeping low to the ground. Seeing resistance up ahead in the form of Bell I throw the ball up and left into the waiting hands of Montague, who is promptly hit in the head by a bludger from one of the two Weasley twins. No idea which one but who can tell with those two?

The quaffle drops into Bell's grasp and she takes off down the field just as loud rambunctious singing begins to erupt from the Slytherin stands. It takes me a few verses to hear the words clearly over the roaring wind, as I take off at high speed but after one or two verses the volume picks up and makes me pull to a stop in my pursuit of Bell. Now that's a dirty trick.

'Weasley is our King  
Weasley is our King  
He always lets the quaffle in  
Weasley is our King.'

Looking over the stand I have to blink my surprise away. How on earth did they all manage to orchestrate this without me knowing about it. I know I've been keeping to myself lately but this is ridiculous.

I'm punished severely for my lack of concentration as a bludger hits me square in the shoulder forcing me to flatten against my broom. I grip tight to the shaft and feel as if all of the wind has been pushed out of my lungs. After coughing a few times I manage to cast a glance over my shoulder at the beater who hit that ball in my direction and I am only mildly surprised to see Goyle's stupid smile for the effort. Here was me thinking we were on the same team.

'Weasley cannot save a thing  
He cannot block a single ring  
That's why Slytherins all sing  
Weasley is our King.'

As I try to regain my breath I hear a loud ring indicating that Slytherin have scored. I find myself a little hurt that I had not been involved.

'Weasley was born in a bin   
He always lets the quaffle in  
Weasley will make sure we win   
Weasley is our king.'

We're winning the game forty to ten by the time I manage to score a goal for myself. My celebration, cut short as another bludger hits me from the side with such force that it rattles my ribs and sends me sidelong into one of the Gryffindor goalposts, my other side taking most of the impact along with the side of my head. After shaking my head to clear the blurred vision and with one arm securely around my ribs to try and ease some of the ache I once again find the eyes of Goyle staring back at me. "Well, that's just not fair," I say more to myself than anyone else. There may be nothing in the rule book about sending bludgers towards members of your own team but it should defiantly come under the category of 'goes without saying.' The team must be very sure of their chances at a victory if they have taken out a member to specifically go after me.

"Are they doing that on purpose?" Ron shouts at me from high above where he is defending the goal posts.

I cough once, needing to shout loud over the singing which is still coming from every Slytherin in the vicinity, apart from me. "I'm beginning to think so!"

The momentary lapse in his concentration causing another goal to be scored on him and I watch as he berates himself for the slip up. I turn my eyes back to the field just as yet another bludger is heading for my head. I have to put my fist to the top of my broom to throw myself into a dip to avoid it. I look over my shoulder to watch as it passes harmlessly above me, not needing to find the beater that sent it in my direction. Goyle and I are going to have words after this. The kind of words which will lead to his face being slightly less square shaped once I'm finished.

I send my gaze skywards, praying that one of the seekers is in pursuit of the snitch so that this nightmare might soon be over. Both Potter and Malfoy are speeding across the sky drawing almost level with each other. From this angle I cannot see the tiny golden ball but their actions indicate its presence. 

I send a silent thanks to whoever was listening to my prayers. Determination, and admittedly dwindling house pride, push me back into the fray and I have control of the quaffle in seconds. Turning almost on the spot and speeding in the direction of the Gryffindor goal posts. As I rear my arm back to throw another goal two things happen. The whistle blows to signal someone has caught the snitch and yet another bludger hits me right between the shoulder blades. I drop the spherical ball and my chest hits the shaft of my broom. I lose my grip and fall sideways reaching for and missing my broom, falling at least fifteen feet to the floor landing heavily first on my shoulder, my hip following immediately after. I roll lazily onto my front gripping my injured arm and for the second time I try to force some air into my lungs.

With a cringe against the pain and a sound emitting from my throat, which sounds dangerously close to a whimper, I bring my head up glancing around the pitch. My eyes find Goyle as Montague gives him a hearty slap on the back in pride. Rage settles in the pit of my stomach and deep behind my eyes.

"That's it." Pushing heavily on the floor and grunting with the effort I manage to push myself to my feet, reaching down to the ground and retrieving the forgotten quaffle as I pass. "Now I'm annoyed."  
Chewing on my tongue and throwing the ball from one hand to another I still have the presence of mind to survey the other players on the field before starting a confrontation with the shaved ape. Most of the Gryffindor team is heavily engaged with Draco along with most of my team. One half staring in hatred at the blond boy, the other sniggering at his comments. Now if I know Draco, and I assure you that I do, there is no way that he will give up on his line of criticism once he has started. Regardless of what is going on around him, especially today. He put a lot of effort into that song and teaching it to a quarter of the student body. So I feel a little safer in engaging the boy almost twice my body weight.

Pulling my arm back with the quaffle in my grip I shout. "Goyle!" Then, putting all of my body into the throw, I send the ball sailing in Goyle's direction. He turns at the sound of his name and the quaffle hits the side of his head with a hollow sound that I can hear even from this distance. There is a momentary pause in Draco's taunting but he mealy glances then turns his attention back to the Gryffindors. The boy is so predictable it's embarrassing sometimes. "You want a fucking piece of me?" I yell over the biting wind and come to a stop three feet from Goyle and turn my furious eyes up towards him. Pointing an angry finger in his direction as I shout "You have the bollocks to come and get it yourself!"

The moronic look never leaves his face as he turns first to seek out Draco who hasn't stopped on his tangent with regards to Potter's and the Weasely's mothers. Finding no support from his leader his face holds a gormless look as it lifts to the sky for Crabbe, who is currently on the reviving end of a tongue lashing from Madame Hooch. He finally turns back to me as I shake with rage, a sneer pulled tightly across his face. I know he has left his comfort zone far behind. He has no way to physically hurt me in the presence of so many teachers without repercussions, so he must rely on his words. "You have to go and get your Mudblood?"

It's unoriginal and totally out of context but still strikes a nerve and my shoulders bunch to show my displeasure. I take a few steps forward getting the idiot within striking distance before continuing. "You're a moron Goyle. So I'm going to give you a chance to amend that statement." His whole face scrunched into an ugly mask of confusion. I have to sigh to hold my temper for just a few moments. "Say that again, you imbecile."

"Oh," He says, it's embarrassing really it is how stupid can one boy be without any registered disorders? "I said. Did you have to go and get your Mudblood?" he speaks slowly trying to imply that I'm the stupid one in this conversation.

"I thought so." Had I been in possession of my wand I would have hexed him so deep into unconsciousness he would be in the hospital wing for at least a week. However wands aren't permitted on the pitch. So quicker than he can see and harder than I thought possible I reel back and for the first time in my life let loose my closed gauntlet covered fist right into the side of his face just as Draco receives the same treatment from both Harry Potter and George Weasley.

The strike feels good. Better than I thought it would feel. There's an overwhelming sense of satisfaction as the leather covering my knuckles crashed into his unprotected jaw. The blow sends him stumbling to one side and before I know what I'm doing I'm stepping forward, another punch primed and ready. It sails towards him and strikes his temple and he crumples to the floor. My body acts of its own accord and steps forward yet further standing over him. One palm bunches in his green and silver tunic and lifts his torso from the ground as I bring my other fist down and into his cheek. His back hits the frozen earth and I reel back for another strike before a set of strong, well-built arms enclose around each of my biceps and pulls me, kicking and screaming from the now cowering boy. My feet leave the ground, kicking out wildly and I pull and twist out of the captive grip around my limbs. Just one more my whole body is screaming at me for just one more piece of satisfaction.

I hear a loud cry of "Impedimenta!" The arms around me loosen and fall from my body and my back hits the frozen ground. My agile body permits me to be back on my feet in an instant as Goyle is still regaining his footing from my strikes. We stand facing each other my fury filled eyes fixed on him, trying with all of my might to burn him from the inside with just my gaze. Chaos erupts around me. Cheers and boos from every student in the stands. When Madame Hooch's feet hit the ground she has to scream above the din. "What do you think you are doing?" Though my body remains still I would love nothing more than the freedom to cross the three feet between myself of the ape like boy and begin to beat him all over again. "Harry, George, Jamelia. Back up to the castle." It takes me a moment to realize that she is referring to me. Only my father calls me that nowadays.

Everything suddenly goes very quiet. The rushing sound of the wind and the faint hoot of an owl are the only sounds to reach my ears. The second of these sounds makes my heart skip a beat and my blood run icy cold. Each owl has very distinctive sounds that they make and when you've grown up around one their hoots are ingrained in your memory, so you always know when to look up amongst the crowd of birds. That's exactly what I do. Above our heads circles a lone bird. A thick red envelope held tightly in its beak. It swoops down at my feet its chest puffed out as he stands with pride and deposits the howler on the cold frozen ground before taking flight.

My eyes land on the cold, tight, blocked writing on its front. It simply says 'Jamelia'. It took a little longer than I expected but I don't even have to open the envelope to know what is inside. For just a moment as I stare at the letter unmoving on the grass, I ponder if he could have orchestrated this? For the letter to find me here and now, on this very pitch, with the eyes of the whole school bearing down on me? He's certainly vindictive enough but would he have thought about it?

Everyone keeps very still and quiet as I lift my eyes from the floor to Goyle who is still squaring off to me. His eyes flicking from the paper at my feet back up to my face. It doesn't take a generous to figure out what he's thinking.

The loud roar of Luna's hat echoes though the stadium, as if a cue for the chaos to resume we both dash towards each other at once. My shoulder lands heavily in his chest, his superior weight and height have the immediate advantage over me. He engulfs me in his bulky body and I lash out. Pushing, kicking and elbowing at every piece of flesh I can find. No method in the violence, just a deep seated need to keep his meaty hands away from the howler which is lying undisturbed between our feet.

A lucky shot hits the back of my knee and I crumple to the ground. He over balances and lands atop me, crushing my body beneath his. I use every piece of leverage, every limb I have at my disposal to dislodge the mass that has settled over me. After a single shout of 'I've got it.' I feel the weight leave me only to hear my father's booming voice, "Jamelia!" The single word has me collapsing against the ground. His voice oppressing me and I bring both of my arms over my head to shield my face on instinct. Many times I have heard his voice take such a tone but never in the company of others. "Blood traitor! Homosexual! And now Werewolf!" My body shakes uncontrollably, the sound of his voice as it wraps itself around that last word enough to drive me to hysteria. "You know the price you must pay for such disappointment!" My father was never one for words, and even before the envelope begins to rip itself to pieces I know that it is the entire message.

My breath comes in short pants and I am unable to move my arms from their protective embrace around my skull. The price he wants me to pay is my life. Something of which I am unwilling to give up just yet. My mind shifts franticly. In a fair fight I could beat him with ease but outside of these grounds I'm an under-aged witch. Unable to cast magic and I wouldn't last a moment.

Around me there is nothing but stunned silence. My own raged breaths louder in my ears than that of the whole student body combined. Slowly I bring myself under control and push myself to my knees then gradually to my feet. The rage is drained from me and I feel the fatigue settle from the last few minutes. The back of my gauntleted hand touches my bottom lip and comes away smeared in my own blood. I pull my lip between my teeth to clean it and turn my gaze to Madame Hooch for further direction.

She just stands there, her wand out ready to cast a spell to tear Goyle and me apart, with her mouth loose on its hinges. Every set of eyes is settled on me. I can feel them crawling along my skin. Some judging me others pitying. Both of which I could do without. My arms cross in a defensive posture against my chest and I hear whispers pass through the stands. Still she stands there, motionless in her shock. I try to implore her with my eyes to say something. Anything. Just to break the silence, which has settled over each and every player standing on the frost covered ground.

My saviour comes in the last form I would have expected. My head of house strides his way across the grass, his robes bellowing out behind him with the speed of his stride, in our direction and immediately takes controls of the situation. "Potter, Weasley you will report to Professor McGonagall immediately." Both of the boys numbly nod their heads and tripping over their own feet in their haste to retreat from the awkward scene. "Desay. You will come with me."

I lift my tired eyes to his features which are currently impossible to read and whisper. "Yes Professor."


	8. Chapter 8: Prejudices

Chapter 8

I concentrate intently on Snape's billowing robes as he strides with purpose across the frozen ground. Trailing behind him and pulling my shoulders tightly around me in a defensive pose, with my heart hammering in my chest, trying and failing to ignore the thick, deafening silence that consumes the entire school.

He leads me across and off the pitch, away from the weight of so many eyes, around the side of the castle, through a small courtyard and down into the depths of the castle. He doesn’t turn towards me, he doesn’t utter a word and the only sounds that can be heard are the purposeful steps of the Potion Master and the steady pounding of my pulse in my ears.

He barely stops as he opens the door to the large potions classroom, leaving the door open for me to follow after him. As quietly and as unobtrusively as possible I enter beneath the threshold and slowly close the door behind me.

Lighting my foot steps I silently decent the stone steps my eyes upon my teacher, waiting for any sense of his disapprove over my actions and the drastic method my Father undertook to reprimand me over my condition. Snape already has a fire burning beneath a bubbling cauldron placed on his desk, collecting ingredients from various places around the room. My eyes following him around the room, waiting for him to show his rage and strike now that he may do so privately.

As I reach his desk he stops in his frantic pacing quickly crushing a dried Crup with a broad knife before adding it to the mixture. His empty black eyes meet mine for only an instant before they lower back to his work. “Sit down” He stiffly commands. I shift from one foot to the other, somewhat unwilling to move any closer to him. His cold demeanour is doing nothing to counteract the churning in my stomach. I only raised I have taken to long to comply with his direction when I feel his gaze on me once more and he repeats his order.

Begrudgingly I comply and slowly take the high seat before his desk, having to place my feet against the struts a few inches from the floor, letting my knees bend so if necessary I am in a prime position to book a hasty retreat. I respectfully remain silent as he works on his potion, both unable and unwilling to breath the uncomfortable silence.

With his eyes still firmly on his work he begins to speak. “What happened out there?”

I shrug my shoulders and answer simply. “I lost my temper.”

He makes a disapproving noise in the back of his throat and brushes the powered remains of his next ingredient into his cupped hand. “I do not recall ever seeing you in that state before.” The powder hits the boiling mixture and hisses on contact. I remain stoic as he brushes one hand against the other to rid himself of the excess. “Have you ever felt like that before?”

“I've been angry before.” I'm unsure as to the direction of this conversation but so far he has kept any degree of anger from his voice. “I don't think I’ve ever lashed out like that though.”

With a wave of his wand he lowers the flame under the cauldron and allows the mixture to simmer. “Rage is a common symptom for your disorder.” He pulls his seat under him and resting his elbows on its arms he bridges his fingers, levelling his gaze at me. “Though I must admit, not usually to such a vast degree.”

As his cold black eyes study me, making me suddenly feel very uneasy and find myself lowering my gaze, finding the grain of this wooden desk very interesting. “What does that mean?”

“Maybe nothing. Everyone is different and so is their reaction to a disorder such as this.” The movement of his hands catches my eyes as he brings his fingertips to pinch his bottom lip in thought. “However, this does add another unusual trait to your other symptoms. One would almost suspect that they could not all be coincidence.” I nod at him in agreement. “I think it would be prudent if we were to be a little more proactive in discovering all of your symptoms.”

As my head shoots up to meet the ice in his eyes I know he can see the fear in my own. Is he talking about tests, physical examinations? Am to be subjected to intensive study to further his knowledge? I cannot help but to cast my mind back to the intrigued look in his eyes after my first transformation. As if he would have loved nothing more than to dissect me right then and there. I blink once, twice trying to dampen my own terror at the thought. Acutely aware that my wand is not within my position, knowing the only weapons I have at my disposal are my quick wits. It will not do to have them slowed by an unconfirmed terrifying conclusion “What exactly does that mean?” I ask him slowly, my sights set on his body language and all of my limbs poised to dash from my seat if I feel endangered.

His chin lifts and his eyebrows lift at my reaction. “Do you fear me, Miss Desay?”

I swallow hard against the lump appearing in my throat and have to force myself not to react to the hammering of my heart against my ribcage. I nod stiffly, preparing myself to bolt out of the door at a moment’s notice. “A little.”

A crease folds across his forehead. “I am truly sorry to hear that.” He reaches for his wand on the desk and my whole body goes ridged. I can see in his eyes that he has noticed the change in me but tactfully ignores it, tapping his wand once on the edge of the cauldron. “Over the next few months you and I will be spending a great deal of time together.” He places his wand once more against the wooden surface of the desk and pulls a single goblet and a pristinely clean ladle from a draw underneath it. “I am afraid that you may have to learn to trust me. If only a little.” He draws the mixture from the cauldron with his ladle and spoons it into the waiting goblet before placing it before me on his desk. “Drink this.”

I eye the steel goblet for a moment before letting my paranoia dictate the direction of this conversation. “What is it?”

“It's nothing sinister. A simple Calming Potion.” He leans back in his chair as he speaks, waiting for me to drink his concoction.

My fingers reach out and for the first time I see how much they are shaking, The man could have killed me in hundreds of painful and varying ways by now, yet still I am unable to take the risk that his prejudice is hidden just below the surface of the stony mask he shows the world. So my fingers touch the base of the goblet and push it a few inches away from me. “I am calm.”

“It would appear so.” The sarcasm drips from his voice, as his eyes stay fixed on my trembling fingers. He sighs and reaches below the surface of his desk again and produces a second goblet. As before he ladles more of the same mixture into it, briefly stopping to raise his glass in toast. “A gesture of good will.” He brings the goblet to his own lips and drinks the whole mixture down in three swallows, then strategically places it down on the desk so I am able to see that it is indeed empty. His face noticeably loses some of its rigidity and when he speaks the harsh tone normally accompanying his words is somewhat lessened. “It tastes as foul as it's odour but I assure you it will make you feel better.”

My shoulders roll of their own accord, still dubious but hoping that I can trust the man before me. I take up the goblet and look deep into the contents for a moment. The smell is foul and the colour and consistency resembles that of over cooked, gloopy ox tail soup. I pull a breath in through my nose and take a small mouthful of the concoction, letting it slide down my throat, trying not to gag as the texture of pure raw animal fat passes through my gullet. It settles in my stomach and as I place the goblet back onto the desk. I happily find that my limbs are no longer trembling, my heart is no longer beating so rapidly that it is threatening to burst out of my throat.

A knowing smile slides across his features, looking very unnatural beneath his crooked nose. He doesn't comment on what must be a very noticeable chance in my demeanour. He pulls his chair closer to his desk and pushes the cauldron away to rest his arms across its surface. “Now. If we are to determine exactly how unique you are, I am going to ask a few things of you.” I nod at him and he seems pleased with the small amount of trust I have bestowed upon him. “Do you keep a journal?” The question catches me off guard and I feel my eyebrows heavy covering my eyes in a silent response. “It would appear not.” He answers his own question for himself and stiffly rises from his seat, making his way over to his store cupboard and reaching inside for a small leather bound book. This is placed close to me on the desk as he returns to his seat. “I want you to start writing your thoughts and feelings down on paper.”

I begin to pull on the laces holding my gauntlets in place so I can look more closely at the book. “Why?” I manage to remove one of the gauntlets, pulling it over my hand with my teeth, while resting the book in my other hand. I pry the leather binding free and open it, only to find the pages to be blank.

“Two reasons.” He adjusts his posture so he feels more comfortably in his seat. “Firstly, writing your feelings down might help you to alleviate some of the tension that they are causing in you. Secondly, when you are much more accustomed to my company, and with your expressed permission, I would very much like to cast my eye over them. I am hoping to be able to spot some of the more hidden symptoms that you may be experiencing, even if you are unaware of them.”

“Do you want me to write in this every day?” I ask, flicking through the pages to see if there is anything hidden between them.

“Only if you deem it necessary. This is not an assignment, Miss Desay. This is designed to help you with what you are currently going through.”

I blink blankly at him a few times and put the book back down. “Yes Professor.”

“I am also going to insist that your next transformation is observed by either myself or the Headmaster.” I had expected as much but that doesn’t stop me voicing my concerns about his safety. In reply he only lets the smallest of smiles pull at the corner of his lips and says. “We will be taking precautions Miss Desay.” My jaw clenches in mild embarrassment and I pull my attention to the one gauntlet still encasing my wrist and hand. Pulling slowly at the laces so I no longer need to look at my head of house with that cold unnatural smiles across his features. “Now, we must discuss an appropriate punishment for your actions on the Quidditch pitch.” As he speaks his voice stays very neutral but his eyes swiftly move to cover the doorway at the top of the theatre like room. He pushes lightly against his desk with his fingertips and stands in one fluid motion. “Dolores.”

My mouth goes dry as I hear the distinctive sound of her heels hitting off the stone steps, each step bringing her ever closer and provoking a single cold bead of perspiration to run the length of my spine. My fear surpasses the effects of Snape's calming potion and I feel my shoulders begin to tremble. Several things shoot through my mind, first and foremost my father’s childlike glee after he had learned who was to take up the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher this year. Mostly for her world-renowned prejudices against any manor of beast that she deems to be sub human. Even after I had informed him at the very start of the year of her completely theoretical approach to teaching his glee would not be quenched, his only response to this news was that at least if he or I were to find ourselves in battle with this generation, our opposition would not be apt enough to defeat us.

She clears her throat as she reaches the lowest level of the classroom, her green knitted cardigan reinforcing the optical illusion of her toad like features. Her arms pulled across her torso and crossed at the wrist near her hip. Her wand held delicately between her fingertips, tapping against the pleats in her skirt with each stride. “Please. Continue Severus.”

Curtly he nods and returns his attention to me. His posture stiff and unwavering from the moment he had noticed her presence. “A week of detention should suffice.”

“For the confrontation on the Quidditch pitch? I think you may be right. However...” My eyes slide closed in defeat and I have to tightly clench my hands to strop the violent shaking. “Someone with her condition.” The word is spat in my direction making me feel unclean in its wake. “Is hardly befitting of a prefect badge.”

“It is my understanding...” Snape glides around the side of his desk to place himself between Umbridge and me. “That each head of house is to choose each of their prefects.”

“Yes, I do believe that is how it used to work.” My skin feels cold and sweat appears on my forehead at her words. She reaches into the confines of her cardigan and produces a roll of parchment quickly pushing it into Snape's hands. “I would like to refer you to Educational Decree Number twenty-five.”

Snape stands stock still for a moment, the parchment griped tightly between his long bony fingers, trading glares with the stout woman, before carefully unravelling it. His shining black shoes squeaks against the stone floor turning more towards me, his upper lip pulling skywards in a sneer as his eyes fly across the page. Without warning he holds the unravelled parchment out to me, barely contained rage burning brightly in his black eyes.

Carefully I take the page and drop my eyes to the neatly scribed words upon its surface. At the top of the page there are a few bullet pointed lines. This states the date of the decrees founding which I take note of as being yesterday. It goes on to name the ministers of whom approve and disapprove of the decree. Only one name is printed to show their disapproval. A Miss Amelia Susan Bones. Underneath this it names Dolores Umbridge as the Hogwarts High Inquisitor. At this I feel my eyebrows dip heavily, I have never heard of such a position. Scanning over the legal document I don't understand a vast amount of its contents just one line is written ever so slightly bolder and taller than all of the others catches my eyes. _'The High Inquisitor will henceforth have supreme authority over all punishments and removal of privileges pertaining to the students of Hogwarts.'_ I can't bring myself to read any further and I numbly place the parchment on the desk.

“Now, it is my understanding that she should be striped of Prefect status, along with all of the privileges that come with it.”

That snaps me back into action. I'm on my feet and advancing on her, I can't go back to the dormitory’s, not after this morning and I'll be damned if I let this toad woman puts me in harm’s way. Only the potion masters hand against my shoulder stops me in my tracks. I have to crane my neck to look up to his face and he ever so slightly shakes his head to stop my words. Quick as a flash his attention is back on Umbridge, pushing slightly on my shoulder, I take the hint and take a small step back. “All privileges Dolores? It is school policy for all with Miss Desay's particular affliction to have their own private quarters.”

“Oh, yes of course. We must think of the children's safety.” Her voice is steadily getting sweeter as is the fake smile across her face. “I'm sure we can find her something more adequate.” I am about to loudly protest being spoken about as if I am no longer in the room when the next words out of her mouth has blind fury bubbling in my belly and the beast inside of me stomping around in my chest, begging to be unleashed on the vile woman. “And just to be on the safe side, I think someone with such a volatile temper should be removed from sports as violent as Quidditch.” Her eyes for the first time take note of my presence in the room, a smile of satisfaction spread evilly across her face.

Only the thought that any violent action would prove her right keeps me rooted to the spot, fists clenching and shaking with fury.

“Might I appeal this ruling?” His body may be outwardly calm but the fire is still behind his eyes.

Her attention returns to Snape, smile still firmly in place. “Yes of course. Any and all appeals should be sent directly and exclusively to my office.” I see the muscles in Snape's arm twitch to reach for his wand before he composes himself, giving Umbridge the opportunity to continue. “Now. All of the correct living arrangements have already been made. Tell your student that Mr. Filch will be happy to escort her there, when she is ready. He will be waiting outside.” She makes a disgusting squeak in the back of her throat, which makes me itch to show her the true extent of my violence. Turning on her heel she ascends the steps to leave the room.

The door closes behind her and even I fear the growl laced in my voice when I speak. “Can she do that?”

“I'm afraid so.” He looks over me once than reaches for my forgotten goblet, pushing it into my hands. “With a decree like this, she can do almost anything.” I take a swig from my goblet but don’t feel any of its calming effects as it reaches my stomach. “You must be careful Jamelia.” The use of my first name grabs my full attention. “She will not miss an opportunity to single you out again as she has done today.”

“I know.” Downing the rest of the dreadful liquid in my goblet to try and counteract the snarl pulled across my upper lip. “May I be excused Professor? I need to go and settle in to my new chambers.”

“Of course. Remember that my office door is always open to you.” He slowly takes the goblet from my grasp and begins a cleaning charm on the cauldron.

“Professor?” He hums slightly to tell me he is listening. “Why are you treating me like this?”

“You are my student.”

He's answer isn't nearly sufficient. “But I'm a werewolf.” It's not the first time I have spoken the word but still I feel my eyelid flinch at the sound.

He turns on me and overwhelms me with his superior height. “Let me be very plain Miss Desay. I am your teacher and you are my student. That is all I need to know.”

He continues to loom over me waiting for any sort of response. At my softly whispered “Thank you.” He appears pleased turning and stepping away to continue clearing away his apparatuses. With a long look at the Potion Masters tight back I realize that this discussion is over. I quietly excuse myself taking my new journal from the desk and slowly ascend the stairs.

With my jaw clenched tight I yank open the door to the potions room only to find the school caretaker on the other side. His hands held behind his back with a very smug look spread across his face. “Come on.” is all he says and begins to lead me down the long corridor. His shuffling footsteps a far cry Snape's rapid long stride, the slow pace causing an ache down the back of my calves as I struggle to amble behind him.

He leads me along the dungeons and up three flights of stairs to the ground floor of the castle, around the side of the great hall and through many winding corridors close to the northern walls. He comes to a slow stop and indicates a lone door set into the stone. The wooden slates worn to a dull grey colour and shrunken with age. “Here we are.” He says his ever-present smug look, stoking the fire under my already boiling rage.

I say nothing, pulling on the small door and having to duck beneath the low hanging upper frame. What I see makes my stomach sink like a stone right to the bottom of The Black Lake. On one side of me there is a small battered writing desk with a withered old wooden chair set underneath. My school trunk set at a right angle and tucked down the side to be able to accommodate it in the tiny room. Across no more than three square feet of floor space stands a steel single bed, the mattress no more than an inch thick and showing signs of age in the form of the protruding springs. A single blanket wrapped around and old moth-eaten pillow rests at its head.

Having no room to pace I turn on the spot to regard Filch and have to restraining myself from wringing his bloody neck if he doesn’t get out of my face or drop the smirk from his lips. “Nighty night.” He says and shuffles his way from my new chambers.

Trying to remain outwardly calm I cross my arm and rest my shoulder against the doorframe, watching him leave. The strategic placement of the room is not lost on me. With both Slytherin and Hufflepuff residing in the lower portions of the castle, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw occupying two of the towers I am effectively outcast from the rest of the student body. Stranded somewhere in the middle, a dirty little secret that must be hidden from view.

Heaving a snort out through my nose as Filch rounds a corner and out of sight, now finally alone I set to work. When first opening the door I noticed the absence of any wards or charms surrounding it. Not even a lock rests against the wooden surface and I know I will not get an ounce of sleep before securing my bedchamber.

Closing the door behind me I pull my Quidditch strip over my head and throw it onto the withered bed. Trying to push down my disgust at its state. Next I set to work along the back laces of my armour, long months of practice has me out of the device in minuets and it is carelessly draped over the back of the lone chair. My sweaty vest soon follows and I replace it with a clean shirt. I leave the heavy leather trousers and boots on and quickly open my trunk, pulling the top layer of clothes out and onto the desk, happy to find my wand neatly tucked between a pair of socks. Beneath them I find my books. All of them gifted to me by my father, mostly containing dark and dangerous magic’s but I am certain I have a book dedicated to the creation and maintenance of entrance wards.

The trunk unfortunately is much larger on the inside than it would appear and I have covered all of my rickety desk with thick books, its legs groaning with the burden of weight, before finally finding the right one.

My smile of victory slowly begins to fade as I read through the first page, leaning for the first time exactly how complicated wards are. I shut the book in frustration and decide that the only way I’m going to learn how to perform this magic is by trail and error. A method that is by no means outlandish to me but I am fatigued from the game and the resounding entanglement with my housemate. I am in no mood for failure even though I know that I what I must endure.

I stride outside closing the door as firmly as I can behind me and flip to one of the less complicated spells in the book, pushing the tip of my wand against the wood as instructed and muttering the incantation. After taking a deep breath I push against the door and feel disappointment as it moves under my weight. Looking from the book to the door and back I again I mutter to myself. “This is going to be a long day.”

For several hours I try and fail to secure my room, I do manage to cast a physical ward against the frame, so the door cannot be physically pushed open without a password however the smallest of spells has the wood shattering in an instant. At the very least this means that I am getting very good at the wordless 'reparo'.

After repairing the shattered wood for what feels like the thousandth time, I sigh in sheer frustration, resting my head against the splintered wood I promise myself just one more try and rest the tip of my wand against the door and muttering the long since learned incantation when I hear my name.

It pulls me from my laborious task and I turn towards the sound of the voice, instantly smiling with genuine relief at who I find. Hermione stands still decked out in full outdoor wear. The thick jacket pulled tight and high around her neck. Harry stands next to her with an old and oddly folded parchment in his grasp, which he promptly folds and pushes into the back pocket of his jeans. Next to him is Ron, looking impatient with a silver cloak draped over his shoulder. “Afternoon.” I greet, pushing from the door. “What are you three doing here?”

Hermione fidgets with her gloved fingers and takes a few steps closer, answering me vaguely. “We saw you.” I raise an eyebrow at her but do not press the issue. “What are you doing here?”

Stepping back and pointing my wand in the direction of the door to indicate my current 'foe' I say. “Trying to ward my new home.”

I watch as Ron blinks a few times before collecting his jaw off the floor. “You can cast wards?”

“That is yet to be determined.” With a flick of my wand and a silent thought I send a low level stunning spell at the flimsy wood, sighing with frustration as the wood splinters, cracks and finally falls to pieces beneath the threshold. Under my breath I mutter “Damn.” tapping the doorframe to repair the rickety slats of wood yet again. The look of amazement on the two boys’ faces brings me a small degree of satisfaction after hours of disappointment.

I can feel Hermione's eyes on me the whole time. “New home. What happened to your prefect chambers?”

“They would be reserves for prefects.” I can feel the sarcasm dripping off my tongue as I speak. “Umbridge made it abundantly clear that people like me are not permitted privileges such as that.” Just thinking about it is causing the beast inside me to begin to pace, trying to crawl up my throat.

“She can't do that.” Hermione says stepping yet closer.

Harry speaks for the first time. “Yes she can, she can do anything.” I lift my chin in question and he clarifies. “Lifetime ban from Quidditch.”

“Same here.” My jaw clenching so tightly it hurts my teeth.

Hermione turns to her friends and softly say. “I'll catch you up.” Her eyes silently requesting them to leave. Harry immediately takes the hint and makes to move pass me, having to stop and grab onto Ron's robes to pull him down the hallway. When they are safely out of earshot Hermione takes a few attentive steps towards my tense form. “I'm sorry.”

The pity in her eyes bashes against my pride and I find myself unable to look at her. “Hermione. I'm a werewolf. It would have been naïve to expect anything less.” Swallowing up the distance between myself and the door in two long strides I place the tip of my wand against the wood once again. “Now if you'll excuse me I’m busy.”

Her hand against my shoulder stops my muttered incantation before I start. “I'm just trying to be your friend Jamie.” After a short pause and a sigh aimed at my taut back she continues. “If you want to talk about anything, anything at all, you know where I'll be.”

“Yeah.” She slowly walks away and I watch her retreating form. Running my hand once through my hair, I ponder what exactly I have left to lose by being completely honest with her. The almost easy friendship that has developed between us? It may be a big risk but every time I see her I want so much more than that. The question is am I willing to risk the breadcrumbs for a slice of the cake?

She disappears around a corner and something snaps in my mind, before I know it I’m calling out to her jogging down the winding corridor to catch up. “Hermione!” I call once more as she comes into view, she stops dead and goes ridged. With heavy breaths I draw level with her, my nerve failing me in the last moments. “I'm sorry, I had a bad day. I shouldn't have spoken like that to you.”

“I understand.”

“I really don't think you do.” My hand shoots up to run through my hair and scratch at the back of my neck. How on earth am I supposed to start this conversation? The nervous gesture catches her attention and she turns to face me fully. “Listen I...” I feel a grimace cover my face as I try to put words to the feelings I’ve been keeping inside for so long. “I'm not very good at this. I'm...” I want to tell her that I am hopelessly in love with her. That just her smile brightens my day I can lose my family, my prefect status even my web of dark wizard connections so long as I still have her presence in my life. “I'm uncouth, manipulative, a liar, disloyal, insanely stubborn and sometimes just downright rude. Breaking off our relationship is probably one of the smartest things you've ever done and that’s saying something. I know I'm not always the easiest person to be around but...” I swallow once, my heart hammering in my chest, tears stinging the back of my eyes but never showing themselves. “But I have to know. Would it have made any difference?” My blue eyes lock with her brown ones and I can see her patently waiting for me to get to my point. “Any difference at all. If I had told you how much I love you.”

Her face goes slack with shock and she takes a small step back. “What are you saying?”

The reaction isn't exactly what I would have hoped for and with a shaky breath I begin to back-pedal. Convincing myself that I might be able to cope with the low level of intimacy I have been granted so long as it is not removed completely. “Tell me it would have meant nothing and I will never speak of it again. I promise.” My voice drops to a low whisper to hide my tremble and the sheer desperation laced though it.

“Jamie. You're an idiot.” She runs a shaking hand through her bushy mane, ordering her thoughts behind her eyes. “I thought...” salty tears leak from her eyes and spill down her cheeks and I have to keep my limbs in check to keep from brushing them away. “I thought it was just physical... for you.”

My heart stops and then thunders against my ribcage to such an extent that I fear it might burst from my very chest, it at odds with itself as much as my current thoughts. “Just for me?”

She nods. “You were, are my first. I let you hold me; touch me, in ways I couldn't imagine letting anyone else. You think I would do that if I didn't have some feelings for you?”

I take a small step forward and am pleasantly surprised when she stays where she is, letting me get closer to her. “Hermione. Please. Be a little more specific.” My arms locked against my sides, the muscles straining to reach for her but I know that I will not be able to survive any further rejection. So there they stay, straining against my resolve until I am absolutely certain that I am perceiving her words correctly.

“I kept holding on to you Jamie, hoping that one day you might love me in return.”

The short distance between us is suddenly too much and I step closer to her whispering a low, “I always did.” I dip my head to bring my lips to hers, a hand sliding along her face, my thumb brushing away the freshly spilt tears. My other arm circling her waist as both of her hands slide up my chest and gather behind my neck. We breath as one as I pull her hips tightly against my own, breaking the age old rhythm of our lips to rest my forehead against hers, falling into those soulful brown eyes all over again. The hand on her cheek moving to cover her shoulders, holding her impossibly close. “I'm a werewolf Hermione.” Even though I couldn't imagine letting her go for an instant I find myself needing to remind her.

“It doesn’t matter.” She whispers threading her fingers through my hair and pulling my head down again to cover her lips with mine.

“Hermione.”

The call of her name from one of her fiends down the corridor has me making to step back from her arms. She quickly bunches her fist in my shirt and pulls me back to her for just one last kiss before she pulls back, her palm stroking against my cheek in a pacifying gesture. “I have to go. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

“Any time you like.” I can't keep the wide grin from my face.

She leans up on her toes and places one last kiss against my lips and pulls out of the circle of my arms. “Tomorrow.”

“Until then.” She turns and I watch her leave, letting my gaze rest on the smile pulled across Harry's face, he speaks in hushed tones as she approaches and she laughs at him, playfully slapping his upper arm. She pulls him around the corner and out of sight.

With the still tingling sensation against my lips I turn back towards my quarters to finish my wards. Perhaps today has not been such a disaster after all. 


	9. Chapter 9: A Morning For Change

** Chapter 9  **

My eyes snap open, my body awake and alert in an instant. At first I do not recognize my surroundings. The dim light and musky smell unusual to my senses. After blinking a few times and digging the heel of my palm into my eyes, the previous day’s events unfold in my mind. I would have quite happily stayed blissful in my ignorance for just a few more moments, before I felt the hard pressure of reality descending once more.

Slowly I unravel myself, having needed to sleep with both my knees and back bent to accommodate the small distance between the two walls. Wincing as I push my arms into the air to stretch out the ache that has settled against my lower back, the bones audibly popping back into place. Listening to the active pipe works running through the walls of the castle, which I have found run very close to my new chambers.

The hazy remembrance of dreams I found in Morpheus' realm flashing before my eyes then quickly escaping my mind. The vague image of a shining sword pulled from the severed tail of a mighty serpent and handed to me, still dripping and warm with its blood. I know that in my dream my chest had swelled with such pride tat having been presented with such a prize. Why, I am not sure. I can think of no use for a sword in my life, my wand and my wits being all that I need. The harder I try to concentrate on the dream the quicker it runs from my grasp before eventually escaping completely into my subconscious.

A knock at my door pulls me out of my musing before I can even begin to chance down the confusing images and I glare at the withered wood. Who would be knocking at my door? A latter part of yesterday filters into my mind and I cannot help but smile. It really could only be one person.

Standing I pull at the door handle to be greeted with Hermione's smiling face. “Morning.”

I rest my hand against the top of the low door and lean my side against it. “What time is it?” I am barely out of bed and bleary eyed, still dressed in my sleepwear. Yet here she stands, her thick outdoor robes covering her from shoulder to knee, heavy dragon skin gloves covering her hands to keep in her warmth in the icy castle. Her breath crystallizing in front of her face and turning into thin plumes of steam despite the fact we are indoors.

“Nearly half past seven.” She says brightly. She always was an early riser, though I had not expected to see her quite so early this morning. The sun is barely showing in the sky. I raise a single eyebrow at her energy, ever so slightly envious at her energy. “Aren't you cold?” She asks, running her eyes over my body.

Looking down at myself to confirm my attire I am stuck by her question. Dressed only in a long t-shirt and a pair of flannel shorts I feel my forehead crease slightly in confusion. I have never been as affected by the elements as the woman at my door but I have never been totally immune. Coupled with the fact that I had not thought to put any warming charms over the small cupboard that has been assigned as my living quarters as I had in my prefect rooms, by all rights I should be in the end stages of hypothermia. Making a mental note to research this strange new discovery later in the day I answer. “Not really” with a shrug. Observing her with her eyes trying to remain inconspicuous as they try to peek around my body and into the room I fight the urge to smile. “Would you like to come in?”

“I was beginning to think you wouldn't ask.” She squeezes past me, having to brush her body close to mine to accommodate us both in the tiny amount of floor space. I turn with her trying to afford her more space as she passes by, my hand lightly resting against her hip to keep her from toppling. Once safely in the room she looks up to meet my gaze. “Cosy isn't it?” She comments lightly.

“I would have said cramped.” I push firmly against the door, having to lift it slightly on its hinges to push it back into place. I must remember to fix that at the earliest opportunity. “At least I'm not back in the dormitory though.” The mere thought of so many disgusted eyes resting on me sends a small shiver down my spine.

As I turn to face her, I feel a soft palm against my cheek and firm lips pressed tightly against my own. My hands fall easily to her hips as she kisses me, groaning with both suppressed desire and happy surprise. When she pulls back her hands glide beneath my arms to hold me around my chest, her crown pressed under my chin. “Were you always this tall?”

I chuckle bringing my arms around her body to encase her shoulders, holding her close and dropping my lips to her hair. “Were you always this short?” I'm happy that we have been able to fall so swiftly back into the easy banter that I have been missing for too many weeks now.

“I think so.” She says with a giggle in her voice, turning her head to place a kiss at the hollow of my throat. At the feeling of both her breath and her caress I groan, the action does not ignite the fires of arousal that I had been anticipating but the action feels far more intimate than I had expected. “I've missed this.” She says against my skin.

Pulling back with my arms still around her I tilt my face downwards. “The kissing or the banter?”

“Most defiantly both.” She places one more chaste kiss against my lips and extracts herself from my arms. Taking a seat on the small bed, eyeing it suspiciously as it groans under her weight. “Do you really have to say here?”

I shrug leaning heavily against the small writing desk on the opposite side of the room, still covered with open, upturned books. “It's not so bad.” My aching knees and back would disagree with me but I don't want to see that look of sympathy on her face ever again. “I'm always close to breakfast and I only have to roll out of bed to do my homework.” As I try to lighten the atmosphere between us I realize what an unusually good mood I have woken up in.

“She's persecuting you.”

“Of course she is Hermione. I'm a half breed.” I know she doesn’t understand and I have no idea how to make it more clear to her. “If our positions were revered, I would have the exact same reaction.”

Without hesitation she rebuttals “I don't believe that.”

Taking up a book from my desk and studying its spine proves to be the best distraction offered to me so I no longer have to look in her eyes. “You shouldn't put so much faith in me.” She snorts and I have to wonder who she sees when she looks at me. It’s certainly not who looks back when every I catch my reflection. “Something makes you think otherwise?” Leaning forward I gently throw the book on Stygian Curses back into my trunk.

The bed creaks as she moves across the battered mattress to lean her back against the rough stonewall. “You've never lashed out at me.” I close my eyes against the current direction of the conversation. Honesty could make this end very badly. “Not once have you ever called me a mudblood.”

My jaw clenches and my eyelids stay tightly shut. How do I explain that by falling hopelessly in love with just one muggle born witch doesn’t mean that I have any new found respect for every other mudblood in the world. That I would not hesitate to use someone's lineage to my advantage if the situation were to arise. “It's complicated.” Is all that I say returning my attention to my books, hoping we can pull away from this topic of discussion before it can really begin.

“How so?” I turn to her expecting to find at least a twinge of anger shining in her eyes. However all I find reflected in them is a deep curiosity.

Throwing the second book into the large trunk I sigh, raising my eyes to the ceiling, trying to find a way to explain myself without referring to her line of decent. This feels like one of the first truly deep conversations we have ever engaged in. I don't want to ruin it by insulting her. Running my tongue through my lips once I find a safer way of continuing. “If I met another Werewolf or even a vampire, I would be likely to show them the same contempt that Umbridge shows me.”

“Why?”

“Because they're half breeds.” The frown across her face deepens substantially. “I'm not explaining this very well am I?”

“I don't know if you can.” She worries her lower lip and I sit in silence wondering if I have overstepped my bounds. “There's a lot I don't know about you isn't there.”

Crossing my arms across my chest and suddenly feeling very defensive I feel my familiar hard mask of indifference slide across my face without my consent. “Second thoughts?”

She quickly stands, her fingers lightly touching my hips. “No.” she says resoundingly. “Just an observation. Something that I want to change, hopefully I might be able to change your mind along the way.” She smiles, a glimmer of hope crossing her face. I restrain myself from asking her not to hold her breath by grinding my teeth. She takes the none too subtle hint and quickly drops the subject. “A conversation for another time I think.” I nod once, hoping she never brings it up again. She leans forward placing her lips against the tense muscles of my jaw. “I think it's time for breakfast.”

I grunt frustrated. “I need to bathe.” My scowl deepens across my forehead. I am still sticky with sweat from the Quidditch game yesterday, not having the stomach to face my housemates in the wake of my father's howler. The only showers, which are available to me, are in the dudgeons, through the Slytherin common room. Not exactly the first on my list of places to visit in the near future.

She still ignores my defensive stance, bending at her chest and nuzzling her nose against my throat. “Why don't you go to my room?”

“Pardon?” I ask, not sure I heard her right, leaning back on my perch so I can look down into her beautiful brown eyes. She is unmoving, staying still and looking up at me. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I'm sure. I'd feel better if you would come and eat something first though.” She pulls my hands from under my elbows and rests them on her shoulders so she can step closer to me. “I didn't see you eat any meals yesterday.”

“No.” Food isn't exactly something that I think about most of the time. Breaks between lessons are usually the only thing to remind me of the time of day and the meals I should be attending. “I was otherwise occupied.”

Disapprovingly she shakes her head moving a few steps over and opening my door. “Get dressed.” In an instant she is gone and I am left to blink and stare at her retreating back. The door pulling closed behind her.

It doesn’t take me long to dress and soon I am joining her in the hallway pulling on the door a few times to coax it into the frame. After checking that my wards are still holding, she takes my hand in hers, weaving her fingers through mine, and leads me down the narrow hallway.

My eyes drift to our joined hands. Why it is that such a simple contact of skin can make my chest swell? I may have found solace within her arms and against her bared chest many times before, but this small act causes a profound and strange reaction within me, one which I simply cannot explain.

In my early life physical contact was all but banned in the family home. My mother may be a very loving woman but my father's disapproving glare often halted any comfort I could obtain from her contact. My brothers... well they are boys. Comfort and caring is hardly a large part of a young boys life. So instead I took enjoying the craps they would entice me into, being the middle child I have been at the correct age to be very boisterous with both of my brothers. I admit that it has resulted in a few more masculine traits to be rubbed off on me but when much of the dark wizard community is predominately male that has been to my advantage.

Glancing sideways at her I can see that the simple action of holding my hand in hers has had no effect on her, nor has it prompted her to check my reaction. As if the small show of affection is nothing out of the ordinary. It is in this moment that I realize, I know almost as little about the woman beside me as she has learned about me over the past months. Through our many encounters throughout the past year there has been very little time we have put aside to simply talk about ourselves. We spoke of current events or, which was more often the case, we spoke in a sycophancy of incoherent moans and sighs elicited from our pleasurable activities. Briefly, as she pulls our joined hands in the Entrance Hall, I ponder how I could have become besotted by a person I know so little about.

We near the door into the Great Hall and my first reaction is to allow the fingers surrounding her hand to go lax. She cranes her head around to look over her shoulder questioningly at me. My heart hammers in my chest listening to the sounds of chatter from the other side of the threshold. Ignoring her reaction I stride past her into the Great Hall facing the fear in my chest like a charging Minotaur. To my left the students sat closest the door fall silent, spreading like a plague through the rest of my house mates, one by one they cease conversation and their eyes bear down on me. My step falters, even as the rest of the school all but ignores my presence. I know that even though illogical their reactions do not matter. My eyes cast along the one silenced table, scrutinizing the positions of each student quickly; trying to decide where would be the safest place to take my seat.

Hermione quickly takes the nerve-racking decision out of my hands. Slipping her fingers along my palm to rest between my digits, I turn my head to look down in her direction and she simply says. “Come with me.” In a low whisper, which can still be heard over the crowd.

I ignore the raising murmur from my house table as she pulls me numbly back over towards the Gryffindor table. We reach the far wall and she leads me along it stopping midway down the table to greet her friends and push a few of her house mates in either direction to make room for us both. “Harry, Ron, Ginny. You all remember Jamie.”

“Morning” I greet stiffly, my elbow finding the tabletop and my nails scratching nervously just under the hairline at my temple, having top resting myself from letting my palm cover my face completely. I had not prepared myself for this encounter and my discomfort is plain to see.

Harry Potter's eyebrows lower over his bright green eyes and he glances first to me then to the woman at my side. “Hermione?” He asks leaning slightly over his breakfast with a questioning voice.

“What the bloody hell is she doing here?” Weasley's approach is admittedly a little less subtle but still a question I'd like to voice myself. “Ow!” he squeaks punishing back in his seat to rub against his now injured shin. Did she just kick him? “Damn it Hermione. That hurt.” She just kicked him.

She leans across the table and grabs a plate of bacon for herself, using her fork to serve a generous amount. “Ron.” She starts with a false look a pure innocence on her face. “Jamie is my girlfriend. It would be nice if you two got along.”

“Girlfriend?” Four shocked voices ask simultaneously.

Mine is the only one she reacts to. Turning to meet my stunned eyes she hands me the plate of bacon. “Too fast?”

Numbly I accept the offered food. Blinking a few times at her, pushing more of the salty breakfast food onto my plate that I could possibly eat, knowing that Strix will want to steal some upon arrival. I run her question over my mind a few times, wondering to the exact implications to such a label. “No, not too fast. I just hadn’t really thought about it.” I take a goblet and fill it to the brim with pumpkin juice.

“Hermione Granger has a girlfriend.” My eyes stray to Ginny Wesley as she speaks. I bring my juice to my lips, wondering at the thoughtful look in her eyes as they stay glued to me. A smile spreads across her lips and she turns to Hermione. “Well. At least you have good taste.” Had I the ability to blush I’m sure I would have done so. As it stands all I am able to do is choke on my own pumpkin juice.

Hermione's hand strays between my shoulder blades in a bid to aid my choking, at the same time Ron turns to his sister his cheeks stained ever so slightly pink. “Ginny!”

She shrugs with a chuckle, “What?” Scooping some eggs onto her fork and pushing them between her lips, effectively ending her side of the conversation.

Sufficiently embarrassed I carefully place my goblet back to the table to wipe away the excess juice that has dribbled down my chin. Ron turns to Harry who has sat with an amused grin between the sibling squabble in silence up until now. “Come on, help me out mate.”

Swallowing the remaining mouthful of his breakfast he turns his head to glance at Ginny then returns his eyes to the plate before him. “I had no idea you were that way inclined Ginny?”

The red headed witch just shrugs smirking at her elder brother.

I reach forward for some slices of toast observing the interactions around me. Ron takes the palm of his hand to Harry's shoulder at his comment with such force that Harry's glasses fly off his nose and hang loosely off his face by his ears. “Oh, come on mate.” Harry cries catching his glasses a moment before they land in his cereal having slipped off their precarious perch, over his ears.

“You implied my sister was gay.” Ron jumps to defend himself.

Hermione at my side joins the conversation. “You have a problem with that Ron?” Her lips are pursed but still smiling and I can see the laughter dancing behind her eyes.

“Yes!” he shouts, his hand cutting sharply through the air as he turns his gaze to Hermione. His eyes move between us both and his expression turns immediately from mildly irate to immensely apologetic. “I mean no. No. Nothing wrong with that at all. But we are talking about my sister here.”

Ginny quickly finishes her mouthful and pitches in. “So you're saying that it's fine as long as it's not me?”

“Yes.” Again he backtracks, after seeing the look on the younger girls face. “I mean no. Aww hang it all. I'm never going to win, with you two.” He drops his gaze to his plates and stabs his fork into his breakfast.

I sit and watch the whole exchange with a deep sense of fascination. They all seem so comfortable with each other. Not only that, they have engaged in this easy banter without pause or even consideration for who is around to witness it. Uncaring of the prying eyes or the idle ears around them. I hope the envy I feel for this doesn't show on my face.

Harry looks up from the table, his green eyes meeting mine and I get the distinct impression I’m being scrutinized. He opens his mouth to say something but stops mid breath. His gaze travelling just above my head before I feel sharp talons slowly land on my shoulder.

I feel my lips curl upwards and without turning to regard the bird I say in a low mutter. “Hello Strix.” He hoots happily ruffling his feathers before settling his wings into place and relentlessly kneading his talons into my flesh to keep his balance. He drops his letter against my collarbone; it slides down my chest and drops into my waiting hands.

For a moment I study the handwriting on the envelope until I am happy that it is from Dale then hand over a rasher of bacon to the bird perched on my shoulder. The paper lands on the table next to my plate unopened and the owl gives a disapproving hoot in my ear over the low crunching sound of his beak demolishing the slice of meat. I'm sure he can bloody read because he's slowly developing a nasty habit of staying on my shoulder as I open each letter from my brother. He opens his wings and flutters them, catching the back of my head in the process to show his disappointment.

Ginny points her fork in Strix's direction, her eyebrows raised into her hairline. “You appear to have a friend. A very persistent one.”

“Yeah.” His wing hits my head again forcing it forward and he kneads his claws none to gently into my flesh. I'm starting to find it very difficult to keep my composure with this distraction.

Hermione provides no help in the matter with a giggle in her voice. “I think he wants you to read it.”

My shoulder jerks on reflex and his long talon slips between some muscles. “You noticed that as well. Ow” reaching up to detach the beak currently pressing against the top of my ear. I finally relent and make a grab for the letter, quickly breaking the seal to appease the impatient bird to my side.

I dutifully ignore the giggles at my side and unfold the crumpled pages inside the envelope, happily noting Strix calming instantly on my shoulder. My forehead creases as I try to decipher my brother's tiny handwriting. Why he insists on writing in such small illegible letters is beyond me. He also has an annoying habit of writing in the margins. As if he thinks of something further to say after he has filled the page. Turning the page to the side to read what is written there, Hermione's voice filters into my consciousness. “Who's it from?”

I have to bite down a venomous retort. I know that she is only curious but months of snide comments and contemptuous looks from people around me have made me develop a ferocious defence mechanism when approached. Especially when I am trying to decipher the unnecessarily messy handwriting in front of me. Clearing my throat to rid myself of the venom on my tongue I answer in a distracted voice. “My brother.”

She's silent for a moment and I turn the page the correct way around after reading his side notes to his own thoughts. “I didn't even know you had a brother.”

Letting the pages go slack in my grasp I turn to her. I had expected anger in some form. Maybe even resentment at failing to mention the more personal aspects of my life. Instead all I am confronted with is curiosity and, to some extent, longing portrayed in her beautiful features. “You never asked.” Her eyebrows rise in question, that particular excuse isn't going to go down well if I just leave it like that. “I have two brothers. Dale's the eldest. He's...” I stop not knowing how to word what's going on in my mind without electing some sympathy from my companions. “He's still keeping in touch.” I purposely avoid mentioning that he is the only one. The bird on my shoulder becomes impatient again, not used to me engaging in conversation, so I hand him another rasher of bacon to still his sharp claws. Hooking a thumb over my shoulder I introduce the unrelenting animal there. “This is Strix.”

As if he knows that I'm talking about him, he makes his way over the top of my spine to rest on my other shoulder and hoots in Hermione's direction in greeting, leaning in when she raises a finger to stroke against the soft feathers along his head. Looks like Hermione has another fan. I shake my head at the antics of the cocky bird and push a bite of toast between my teeth.

I fold the half read letter tightly and push it into the back pocket of my trousers, while Strix is distracted, glad that he only acknowledged the movement by adjusting his balance.

Turning my attention back to the table I find Harry looking marginally amused by our actions. He shakes his head and opens his mouth to speak for a second time. “How did you sleep last night?”

I shrug and Strix, with a flap of his wings, moves over to perch himself on Hermione's much more stable shoulder. Soaking up all the attention she is giving him. “Not bad, why do you ask?”

“Just thought it would be cold.” His tongue comes out to moisten him lips. I stay silent, not used to such mindless chit chat and Harry clears his throat. “You know how to use wordless magic.” Instantly I’m suspicious. Why on earth would he want to bring the conversation in that direction? He sits fidgeting with his hands waiting for me to speak. I make no move to fill the stillness between us, instead turning back to my breakfast and waiting for the Boy Who Lived to get to the point. “Where did you learn that?”

Without moving my lowered gaze I answer. Starting to become uncomfortable with his line of questioning. “Here and there.”

Ron snorts and directs his question towards my girlfriend. “Is she always this vague?”

Her only answer is a tight-lipped smile. With a one last small, unwanted nip to my ear Strix pushes from Hermione's shoulder and disappears into the large parliament of owls hovering above our heads.

“Look I don't mean to be rude...” I have to bite my upper lip to keep from calling the boy in front of me by his surname, brining my sights back up to look at him “Harry. But, stop beating around the bush and spit it out.”

Leaning back in his seat he blinks at me in surprise for a moment. “Can you teach me?” All those around us are ignoring the change in topic, continuing with their mindless chatter, oblivious to the almost pleading expression on his face.

I snort with humourless laughter and his three friends lapse into silence waiting for an answer. “To what end? You lean these skills next year, why rush it?”

“Why did you?” My jaw tightens and I’m starting to get the impression I have been set up by this small group of friends. He takes the hint quickly that I am not going to answer his question and tries a different approach. “Voldemort is coming.”

The way he watches me so intently shows me that he expects me to react the to The Dark Lords name being uttered from his lips. “The Dark Lord has always been coming.”

“So you believe me?”

The lies printed across the Daily Prophet can hardly compete with a dead body slowly becoming ridged with rigor mortis right before your eyes. This coupled with the rumours flying through my father’s connections throughout last summer holidays all but confirmed his story of the Dark Lords return.

My elbows rest on the table top on either side of my plate, my palms meeting, my lips resting against their edges as I contemplate his request for several moments. Giving away my advantage over most of the witches and wizards of my age is not a small decision to make. My competence with my wand is down in no small part to days upon days of practice and patience. Once mastered the skill he seeks from me is more than useful as I have shown on numerous occasions. It has given me a large sense of safety for years and to hand it over to a boy I have only known for a single day feels foolhardy.

However, I have very few pleasant things left in the world. One of which sits quietly by my side. Pushing her food around her plate with her fork in an attempt to look unaffected by my conclusion. The thought of Hermione in such danger without a means of defending herself, a means of which I am more than capable of providing, makes my insides clench painfully.

My condition, and the rejection I have suffered due to it, has effectively ended any sense of loyalty I have to the Dark Lord along any who support him. In a direct contrast to this these people who I currently sit amongst do not know me, all they truly know of me is the beast residing within my very skin. They have not shunned me for this dangerous trait, not even paused for alarm.

“There is so much more I can teach you.” I say.

He lets out a deep breath with a snort of laughter. “I think I’d like that. I think we all would.” There are murmurs of agreement in the intimidate vicinity from his friends and he smiles. “Would you be willing to teach others?”

“You would only pass on the knowledge anyway. Why waste the time?”

“Then it's settled. There’s a few things that I need to iron out first but I'd like to start soon.” He rubs his hands together and pushing his half-finished meal away he stands. Ron following close behind. “I'll let you know as soon as I can.” He turns and makes his way through the crowd of students gathered around the great hall, making a hasty exit into the Entrance Hall.

Turning my head towards Hermione I find her glancing at me, not able to hold my gaze for more than a second. “Thank you” she says after returning her attention to her breakfast that, by the looks of it, she has lost all interest in.

With suspicion laced through my voice I begin to speak. “You knew he was going to ask me that.”

Her face folds into a grimace showing me her guilt. “I didn't think he was going to ask this morning.”

“You don't need to set me up Hermione. Just ask next time.” Turning back to my almost forgotten meal I bring another bite to my lips.

“Thank you.” She says again resting her hand against my forearm on the table. I nod at her, slightly uncomfortable with her expression of gratitude.

 


	10. Chapter 10:Curse of Solitude

** Chapter 10  **

Thank sweet merciful Hygieia for the gift of cleanliness, then bow at her feet and worship the ground she walks on for making it feel so good. For many long moments I stand beneath the spray of scolding water, my forehead pressed lightly against cold tile. A long, drawn out groan vocalizes my pleasure, just enjoying the feeling of purification, pelting against my tense shoulders and running down my exposed back. The tension in my body washed away with the dirt and grime of yesterday’s game and disappearing down the drain.

Throwing my head back I allow the same sense of gratification to run down my throat and over my chest before pushing my head under the relentless spray, smiling as it batters against my crown, cascading down my cheeks, pooling and flowing freely from my chin.

After sighing in contentment, I set about soaping my hair and body to finish what the heated water has started. Scrubbing the evidence of my exertions from my skin and beginning the satisfying process anew. With my life long cleaning ritual completed to my satisfaction, I twist the taps turning off the pounding spray with a high pitched squeak and push much of the excess water from my long locks. Pulling a towel to my skin I simply enjoy the feeling of being clean once more.

Wrapping the soft fabric snugly around my torso I step from the small tub onto the cold stone flooring. I lean heavily on the small sink and close my eyes, breathing in the steam all around me, permitting myself a small moment of stillness before truly beginning the day. With a sigh my palm swipes once over the misted mirror and upon looking at my refection I get a very strong sense of déjà vu when I take note of a missing injury.

My finger and thumb reach up to my face, independent of thought, and run along my bottom lip gripping the flesh to confirm that my reflection is true to reality. I was certain I had spilt my lip yesterday morning. Granted it had been little more than a scrape but it was enough to draw blood. Now I look upon my reflection to find no evidence of the wound, no sign of swelling, not even an angry red line across my lip to indicate it had ever been there. Frowning at the discovery I pull my lip down to inspect the inside to find the skin unmarked.

Not once in any of my research into my condition have I found any reference to advanced healing. Yet here I stand for a second time scrutinizing my own skin for signs of damage, and again I am unable to find any.

It is possible that the blood I found on my skin was not spilled from my body, which would explain this phenomenon, for I remember little pain directly following the physical fight.

Shaking my head clear of the confusing thoughts I pull the towel from my torso and rub my skin dry enough for me to dress and enter Hermione's bedchamber. I find her with her back to me, hunched over a long roll of unravelled parchment, the spine of an open book resting against a stack of other books to angle it towards her. Her finger lands on her page and I hear her lightly muttering to herself before returning the tip of her quill to the paper. Still furiously scratching the words across the page she takes note of me entrance. “Feel better?”

“Oh by the Gods I needed that.” I reply, with the now damp towel running through my long strands of hair. With chasers skill I throw the cloth across the room into the waiting basket by the door. Stepping closer to her hunched back, the pads of my fingers touch against the flesh at her throat drawing her untameable mane over her shoulder and away from her skin. I run my hands down her arms and rest a grateful kiss against the skin of her neck before whispering a soft “Thank you” across the shell of her ear.

The quiet intake of breath indicates the desired effect of my actions and her quill stops momentarily in mid-air. “You're distracting me” she accuses without an ounce of disappointment in her voice.

I hum in agreement, low in my throat and drop my smiling lips to her neck a second time. “You're complaining.” I accuse right back; drawing my lips behind the base of her ear and feeling a shiver run down the length of her spine.

Her head leans back and ever so slightly to the side granting me further access to her delicious skin. “I have to concentrate on this.” She complains further, her body betraying her speech and the feather quill lands on the open roll of parchment.

Encouraged by her positive reaction to my ministrations, desire begins to curl in my belly and heats my skin. I chuckle letting my breath fall against her slightly tan skin. “I highly doubt that you have any homework due for tomorrow. It can wait. At least for a little while.” After so many long, lonely weeks without the comfort of her skin I can hardly contain my anticipation.

Her fingers run along the base of my skull, her nails scraping sensuously against the fresh they find along the way to weave into my hairline and pull my wandering lips from her skin. Her lips find mine for a few moments. She does not try to deepen our kiss before she is pulling back from me, desire darkening her irises. “It's not homework and it's important.”

With a groan of shear frustration I pull away from the beauty in my arms and take a seat on the bed, lifting my leg onto my knee to put on a sock. “What exactly are you working on?”

“A lesson plan for Hagrid.” She says not lifting her eyes from the page.

Both of my eyebrows rise at that. “You're telling a teacher, what it is he should be teaching.” I try and fail to keep the shock out of my voice.

She sighs and appears to deflate, dropping her head into her hand. “He has an inspection on Tuesday. Umbridge is going to crucify him if he keeps teaching us about the more dangerous creatures out there.”

“Hermione.” I shake my head and lift my other foot to cover it with a sock. “You're wasting your time. Even if he sat you down in the safety of a classroom and taught you about theoretical wood nymphs, Umbridge will pick fault with his methods.”

Her attention is completely on me as she asks. “How do you figure that?”

With a shrug I carefully try to keep my voice indifferent. “He's a half breed. I know firsthand how she feels about half breeds.”

She's silent for a few moments, blinking at me. “Is that how you see him?” She must be remembering our earlier conversation on the matter. I find that I will need to choose my words very carefully, keeping in mind that the half giant is both her friend and a teacher in this establishment.

Closing my eyes and cursing myself for drawing the conversation once again in this direction I reach for my shoes to try and avoid her gaze. “I used to.” I answer honestly, unsure as to why.

“You don't now?”

I have to think about her question. I've never really met the half giant, never spent any time with him and I’ve never even taken any of his classes. Yet his daily presence at the staff table over the last two years has desensitised me to his immense size. “I don't really notice it anymore.” My shoes now in place and tied, I have no choice but to turn back towards her, “Umbridge will though.”

“I have to try.” She turns back to her work, her frown now creasing much deeper over her forehead.

I cannot suppress the smile at her stubbornness; luckily for me she is staring too intently at her work to notice.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

The following Tuesday afternoon, unfortunately, proves my theory. I lean heavily against an archway to a large courtyard on the west side of the castle, my gloved hands crossed over my chest, waiting for the care of magical creatures lesson to end across the rolling hills of snow.

Umbridge is the first to emerge from the edge of the forest. Attired completely in leaf green from the tip of her ear-flapped hat to the heeled shoes on her feet. In my opinion someone with the facial features resembling a frog such as hers, should avoid such colours.

As she passes close by me, the satisfied smirk coating her bulbous features drops momentarily to look upon my form with thinly concealed contempt and disgust. Ignoring the animal inside of me, stomping around in my belly and trying to crawl out through my throat to wipe the superior look from her face by force, I remain stationary. Not daring even to follow her motions with my eyes for fear of losing the thin vale of control I have over my insides. Even with a week until the next full moon my temper is proving to be difficult to control around the vile woman.

Keeping my eyes trained on the resting snow, currently two feet deep I watch as three friends finally emerge ahead of their classmates. The wild curly locks ploughing ahead of the group betrays her identity even at this distance and the purpose of her stride confirms her wrath. I hear her voice carry across the carpet of white but I am unable to decipher her words as she turns abruptly towards her friends. Her arms chaotically gesturing all around her as she speaks. She's not happy and I sigh in frustration. Did she actually expect anything less?

Draco emerges from the dance tree line and engages with my girlfriend and her companions. The confrontation is swift and results in a flustered Hermione pulling her wand from her robes to clear the snow towards the greenhouses.

My eyebrow rises irately at her seeming to forget our prearranged meeting place. It would be easy for me to walk along the castle walls and head them off but this would show Draco my vulnerable back, a position I am loath to put myself into for a second time. So puling at my resolve I remain where I stand, content to deal with any jeering comment he might throw my way in place of any painful curse he might be able to land with my back turned to him.

The three of them pass by my outwardly relaxed form, all either to stupid or two distracted to notice the beast inside me pacing behind my eyes and reap vengeance on those that cause it to exist in the first place.

As they pass unhindered, trying to push each other into the thick layer of snow coating the ground, laughing with each other over the reaction they had been able to provoke in Hermione. I keep them in my peripheral vision and it takes all three of them a moment to notice my presence, then the laughter starts all over again. Draco is the first to speak. “Look boys, the little mudblood forget all about her little puppy.” The growl that rumbles through my chest is an impossible reaction to suppress against his words. “Now, now half breed. No need to get nasty.”

I turn my head to fully face the boy, his white blond hair appearing to blend into the carpet of white powder covering the ground. “My bite is worse than my bark Malfoy. I assure you.”

His head cocks to the side at my statement, almost trying to decide if I had misspoken or had indeed intended to intimidate him. “Are you threatening me?” I knew that such a sentence would provoke him to interact with me, drawing him into a conflict and hopefully bringing him down a few pegs in the process. His thought process is so simple to manipulate it’s almost embarrassing.

Leavening a pause between us long, heavy moments I wait until he released his bated breath to answer. My voice at a high pitch to convey my amusement and in turn, raise his vexation. “Perhaps.”

He shows his teeth as he grins. “Crabbe, Goyle. I'll meet you in the common room.” Both of his massive friends look to each other in surprise. “Go on. She wouldn't dare touch me.” Cocking my head to the side at him in question for a moment, this show of arrogance or perhaps bravery is totally for my benefit. His unwavering eyes trailing my body are enough evidence of that. It takes no more persuasion and the two ape-like boys make their way back into the castle, leaving us alone in the small courtyard. “Alone at last.” He says, the almost genuine smile resting on his face making my skin crawl with unease.

“Indeed.” I reply, a little curious as to the direction of this conversation. “Although I see no reason as to why that is.” It is indeed an unsettling feeling, being put onto the back foot in such a way by the boy.

Ignoring my thinly veiled question he jumps straight into what I perceive to be a very well rehearsed speech. “These last few weeks you've been very, unfortunate.” I raise an eyebrow at his neglect to mention much of my misfortune can be directly linked to his actions. “Your father has deserted you. Your connections are gone and you appear to have what is a very bleak future.”

Pushing from my leaning post I take a step towards him, only mildly surprised when he stands his ground. The sudden action was intended to intimidate him and this show of courage is not something I had expected. His words may be the truth, yet he must know I am completely aware of my predicament. So to what purpose has he to voice them? “I do not have time for your games Malfoy. Say your piece and be done with it.”

A look of frustration and anger appears on his face for only an instant before me makes an effort to hide it behind a thin mask of indifference. “I have a proposition for you.” He waits only a heartbeat for me to speak, knowing that I won’t he continues. “My father can see to it that you are treated with some degree of respect. He has even offered to speak to your parents to see if the damage in your relationship can be repaired in some way.”

“And why would he do that?” I take another inconspicuous step closer to him, my arms still folded over my chest. Poised and ready to reach for my weapon even though at this short distance there is little he could do to harm me before I had noticed the beginnings of the action. “When you have so rightly pointed out, that I have nothing to offer him?”

“You do have something.” He stresses the word. “Something you didn't have before. You think I wouldn't notice your uneasy friendship with the golden trio?”

Suddenly all of the puzzle pieces fall into place and I cannot help the snort laugh that escapes me. The look on his face priceless, he had expected me to fall on bended knee at his promises, to pledge myself to his family without a second thought. Clearly he has grossly underestimated the deep-seated feelings I hold for Hermione. “Malfoy. How can you possibly understand?” I take another slow step forward and come to stand almost toe-to-toe with him. His face remains impassive but I can see in his eyes that I have unsettled him, I have once more claimed the advantaged and I intend to push it for all it’s worth. “My friendship with the Gryffindors may be, for the moment, uneasy. But in the space of three days I have had more in depth and invigorating conversations with them than you and I have shared in all our years at Hogwarts combined.”

His mask of unconcern begins to slip from his features at my words. “You would pass up on this opportunity? For what? Conversation?”

I sign in exasperation. “Or acceptance?”

“Yet we both know you would not accept another of your kind.” All pretence lifts from his face and his upper lip lifts in a sneer of disgust. This is his biggest downfall, his unrelenting arrogance and vile temper when something does not go his way. A single child, spoilt beyond measure, without a single stand of patience to be able to claim.

“True but what is to stop me seeking it?” The twitch of his nose tells me he has no answer to my question. “This... This thing inside me. This disease that disgusts you so. It has and will always continue to change my life, in a detrimental way. There's no cure, no treatment and I will live with that. I have to.” Pausing for a moment I push down my growing anger at my own words. This being the first time I have put voice to these feelings and I’ll be dammed before I allow my temper to stem the tide now. “And you did this to me.” His cold grey eyes meet icy blue as his gaze snaps to meet mine.

“You were bitten, I had no part in that.”

“You left me in the forest to die.” I am careful to keep my voice even, only allowing my ire pull my upper lip up to bear my teeth. I have no evidence of his involvement apart from my own memories. No court in the magical world would convict him based on the sole testimony of a half-breed. “Regardless of what happened after that, vicariously the blame rests squarely on your shoulders.” My voice drops to a low hiss, my temper beginning to seep through my stony exterior. “I swear that one day I will see justice done, one way or another Malfoy. You will categorically understand all you have taken from me.”

The sound of running footsteps on stone indicates that we are no longer alone moments before Hermione turns a corner and with heavy breaths begins to speak. “Jamie I’m sorry I...” She cuts herself off mid-sentence, looking over the two of us so close together. Clearly involved in some sort of conflict by neither spells if fists have begun to fly. “What's going on?” She asks slowly, her concern for my safety evident in her voice.

Still I continue to glare at the boy in from of me, holding his gaze my eyes unblinking, unwilling to be the first to back down.

Totally ignoring the newest addition to the group, he squares his shoulders and with his hand resting on the handle of his wand he begins to speak. “So is this to be it? An eye for an eye?” I am unmoved by his display. It had been done with the intention to overawe me. The ploy has failed. I have spent long enough in his presence since I began my education to know that he will not cause me harm in the presence of a witness. 

He is unsettled by the threat and now I know my task is complete I take a small step back, handing him back some of his personal space and effectively sealing my inconspicuous victory over him. With a loud laugh to try and hide much of my anger from my girlfriend so she does not concern herself with what she has been a bystander to at a later time. Letting my lips settle into a mocking smirk I regard him. “Oh Malfoy. Don’t be so dramatic.” Trying to keep my voice even but still lase it with threat I continue to speak. “I still have my eyes.”

His back pushes impossibility straighter in an attempt to hide his fear. Even though we both know it is too late for that. He turns, his shoes grinding against the pebbled floor and quickly escapes, entering the castle and leaves my site. Not a moment to soon.

Hermione comes to stand close to me, her fingers grasping my forearm to secure all of my attention. “What was that about?”

“Oh nothing.” I brush off her concern and after carefully extracting my arm from her grasp I place it around her shoulders in an attempt to keep out the cold.

“Didn't look like nothing.” Why must she always be so observant? “Was he threatening you?”

I smile, knowing that she will be unable to see it from her position. “Defiantly not.” That particular pleasure was all mine this afternoon. “How did your lesson go?” I ask, already knowing the answer but trying to draw her attention away from what she almost just witnessed.

This has the desired effect and a growl enters her voice. “That woman. That evil, twisted bitch.” My eyebrows shoot so high on my forehead they disappear into my hairline in shock. I really don’t think I’ve ever heard Hermione swear before. Biting my tongue to refrain from pointing out I predicted this would happen, I settle for pulling her tightly against my side. Her shoulders are tight and her back ridged. “Do you know what he taught today?” The question is rhetorical; she doesn’t expect and answer so I do not provide one. Instead I opt to pull her into the castle and out of the winter cold. “Thestrals. They're not even that dangerous. For God sake most of us can't even see them.”

Although I stay silent on the issue I can't help but wonder exactly how productive a lesson could be when the item of study is invisible to most of your class. Nor do I divulge my initial fear upon seeing one of the strange creatures after the death of my uncle.

As we walk down the chilly corridors I feel as she turns and inclines her head towards me, sighing at my persistent silence. “What are you thinking about?”

With a frown on my forehead I let my gaze meet hers and with a final squeeze release her shoulders from my embrace. Lifting the back of my robes I push my hands deep into my pockets.

This question is foreign to me. It would be easy to describe me a stoic most of the time. Preferring to lurk in the shadows and be a quiet observer. Before this moment the behaviour has never been questioned and I'm sure, often went unnoticed. My initial reaction is to try and convince her that my mind is blank and I am listening intently to her but my curiosity on this occasion surpasses the initial response. “Why do you ask?”

She shrugs slightly, linking her arm with mine. “You're always so... thoughtful.” At a sidelong glance at her I can see her trying to choose her words, carefully behind her eyes. “It would be nice to know what was going through your head.”

“You think I don't listen to you.” It doesn’t take me long to figure out what she is getting at.

“Well...” She pauses again. I presume to avoid directly agreeing with my conclusion. “You're not always an active contributor to a conversation. We're you always this quiet?”

I take a moment to mull over that question. In all honesty, before our declaration of love three nights ago, we very rarely spoke about anything of consequence. So a conflict of interest would have very few adverse effects, so there was no reason for me to keep many of my thoughts to myself. It is also a distinct possibility that the past few weeks of my self-induced solitude has made me much more accustomed to silent reflection. “I don't know.” I eventually answer honestly. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“Not really. It's just.” She pauses to take a breath and to decide how best to express herself. “I'm worried that I'm boring you.”

I allow myself the pleasure of a smile and a snort of laughter. “You are many things Hermione. Boring, however is not one of them.”

Her loud huff of frustration reaches my ears only moments before her voice. “Then, why is it so difficult to have a conversation with you?”

“Is it always?” I ask with genuine curiosity, I had not considered before that to hold a one sided conversation would be a chore. Many of the people I have surrounded myself throughout my short lifetime have been content to listen to their own voice for hours upon end. It was a very simplistic way of extracting information so I have always permitted it to continue. This particular predicament is not something I have ever encountered before.

She lets out a long breath and I see her squint her eyes. In thought or in exasperation I am unsure. “Not all the time. Just when we get onto certain topics you go really quiet.”

“I don't always have something to say.” I say as she pulls me up a spiral staircase.

“Well I know that's a lie.” At my raised eyebrow she continues. “You're always thinking. It's like I can see the cogs tuning in your head. You just don't voice them.” I make a small noise in the back of my throat to show that I have heard her but say nothing on the matter. It was a mistake on my part to think she would not notice the action. “See. You're doing it again.”

“I'm sorry.” I apologize easily. With a slow sigh I go about trying to come up with a way of explaining myself to her without divulging too much. She stays quiet, as if intuitively knowing that on this particular occasion I fully intend to speak honestly, yet I am simply choosing an appropriate order for my words. “We always seem to land on a topic, that you are passionate and very opinionated about. My own opinions often conflict with yours.”

“So?” Her question takes me off guard but she saves me the embarrassment of confusion and ploughs forward. “I don't want a carbon copy of me. There would be no point in conversation if you believed everything I did.”

I frown, trying to remember a time in my life when open discussion of different opinions was not only permitted but encouraged and find myself drawing a blank. Such conflict in my family home would not have been received well by my father. His opinion was my opinion, regardless of my own thoughts on any particular circumstance. So her request for open conflict of interests is more than a little baffling. “You want me to argue with you.”

“Not argue.” Her rebuttal is quick. “More like debate.”

“Debate?” I ask, letting the word roll around in my mind, wondering if there is any difference between the two words.

“Yes, debate.” She pulls on our interlocked arms and draws me to a stop, waiting until I look upon her face in question before she continues. “I'm going to regret saying this but, please don't be afraid to disagree with me.”

“What if you don't like what I have to say?” I ask fearing her answer.

“Why does it scare you so much? You think I'm going to leave you because we have a difference of opinion?” Her comment is in jest though I do not take it as such. Not having to voice my answer, she sees the tightening of my jaw beneath my skin and steps forward to run her palm over my cheek as a show of reassurance. “Don't think that way. Don't tread on eggshells. Just be yourself.”

With her skin pressed close to mine I find it hard to find the energy to either lie or hide my feelings. Covering her hand with mine I put voice to a niggling fear in the back of my mind with little thought to the consequences. “What if you don't like who I am?”

“I fear the same thing.” The small admission is enough to lift a heavy burden from my chest and lets me release a small breath I had been holding. “We'll just have to cross that bridge when and if we come to it.” Somehow I think my approach of staying quiet and totally avoiding the hypothetical bridge is better than her idea. She giggles at me and it makes me wonder if the thought shows on my face. “Come on.” She takes my arm again and pulls me into a brisk walk. “We have a history of magic lesson.” My groan echoes down the corridor and her laughter soon follows.

 


	11. Chapter 11: Blind Fury

** Chapter 11  **

Okay. Take a breath and count backwards from ten, you are capable of this and you will not allow it to best you. Just one final attempt, then I will have grounds to lose my temper and if that happens I swear there will be Tartarus to pay.

Putting my shoulder against the side of the door I forcefully shove the hinges back into place, the old wood resisting my effort and pressing into my torso, splintering against my flesh. With a click it pushes into place and the whole weight of the door bears down on my shoulder, reminding me that if I move away now that it will not hold in place. With my collarbone still pushed almost painfully against the battered timber, I manage to pull my wand around and rest my arm against the old withered lumber and point the tip towards the hinge.

The words of my spell are the very tip of my tongue when four small words startle me. “What are you doing?” I jump, very nearly out of my skin, pulling away from the unexpected noise close to my vulnerable back, clumsily spinning midair and aiming my wand towards the raised eyebrow of Ginny Weasley. Her eyes move from the tip of my wand to my face and back again. “What are you doing?” She repeats, her voice taking on a very amused tone.

“I...” My voice catches in my throat, not really having an acceptable answer as to why I just nearly hexed the girl into the middle of next week. It takes a moment of my eyes darting all around her for me to notice she is alone and not bearing arms, with this knowledge my stance relaxes. Still fumbling around in my head for an answer to her very simple question, “Well, I...” I frown at my own stuttering. It's not often I have to go from mildly relaxed to high alert and then back again in such a short period of time, the effect of which is disorientating at best. “What on Earth are you doing here?” In the absence of a logical answer I jump to the offensive.

Her arms cross over her chest as she regards me. “You're a little jumpy.” She observes.

“Yeah. Well...” Taking a breath and pulling myself into a standing position so I do not appear threatening I try to find the words to continue. “Don't sneak up on me.”

“I wasn't sneaking. You were just engrossed with your door.” How exactly is she able to make that sentence sound as though she thinks I'm truly insane? “What are you doing anyway?”

“I'm fixing the hinge.”

“Oh.” She leans forward and turns her gaze to the doorway. I quickly lean forward and pull the door towards us, effectively shielding my one private space from her prying eyes. She furrows her brow but makes no comment on my actions. “Do you need a hand?”

I clear my throat, pretending to consider accepting her offer of aid. The truth is another pair of hands would be useful. However this would, for one, let her see and enter my personal space when I have spent many long hours putting up wards and charms to prevent such a thing from happening. Secondly, I would be accepting her aid, thus showing that I am unable to complete the task without it. After so long of hiding all of my vulnerability for fear they would be used against me, it is more than a little difficult to let them show to this group of people, of which I appear to have fallen into an uneasy friendship with, due to my relationship with Hermione. “No. I'm fine, thank you.” I pull against the handle so it lifts the door on its old and rotting hinges, slotting it into place against the doorframe. After feeling the wards take effect against my palm I deem it safe to remove and give the red headed girl my full attention. “Can I help you?”

She shrugs slightly and I can see her shaking her head, though I admit I am unsure as to why. “I was just looking for Hermione. Thought she'd be down here with you.”

Holding my arms out wide from my body I indicate the empty hallway we are standing in. “Not here, sorry.”

“I see that.” She slowly nods at me looking behind her in a way that makes her look very uncomfortable with being alone with me. “Any idea where she is?”

“I'm supposed to be meeting her...” After taking a glance at my watch I realize that my duel with the door took far longer than I had anticipated. “Twenty minutes ago.”

With a smile laced through her voice she mocks me. “Best not keep her waiting then.”

“No.” I say clenching my jaw. I push open my door again, dreading having to close it a second time in front of Ginny and reach in, only long enough to pull my heavy outdoor cloak from inside. “Would you care to accompany me?” I add for the sake of civility, pulling my cloak around my shoulders and fastening the clasp.

She smiles so wide she shows her teeth, mischief dancing in her green eyes. “Depends. Would that be cutting into your alone time?”

“Yes.” I answer without pause, my eyebrow lifted in both challenge and question.

She makes a small noise in the back of her throat and shrugs. “I think I can live with that.” After very seriously considering hexing the girl into the middle of next week just because I have the capacity to do so and I am being irritated by her continued presence, I walk past her. Letting let her fall into step at my side. “So...” She says, trying to strike up a conversation. Just letting the word hang there for many long moments, as if I could grasp the direction of her thoughts with one very small, very vague word. I continue to wordlessly make my way to the Entrance Hall. Hoping that she will drop this subject, whatever it may be and I may be left to walk in silence. I have no such look and she finishes the thought just as I open one of the large oak doors at the front of the castle. “You and Hermione? How's that going?”

Now I must not only endure her persistent attendance now I must be bombarded with her need to meddle into my personal affairs. It almost makes me miss the times before my relationship with Hermione was public knowledge. At the very least I did not have a constant air of curiously in the eyes that follow us throughout the castle hallways. Whispering their gossip behind their hands. “Fine.” I answer in a clipped tone.

“My. You are talkative.” She says with sarcasm as we push out into the castle grounds and I set a fast pace towards the Black Lake, a fresh layer of snow crunching beneath our feet with every footfall. “How does she put up with you?” The only answer she receives is a sidelong searing glare, which provokes nothing more than a smile to grace her features. She's trying and I must admit succeeding in pressing my buttons and evoking a reaction of some sort. “You don't like me very much do you?”

Gritting my teeth, so I don't openly agree with her, I take a moment to choose my words carefully. “I don't know you.”

She openly laughs at me then quickly draws her arms around her chest against the winter chill in the air. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter either way.” She lapses into silence again, which I am infinitely grateful for. That is until she turns back to me, all manner of jest leaving her body and she looks upon me with a serious expression on her face. “Hermione is my friend. My best friend, we've been through a lot together. Now I don't know how to say this without wading through lots of bullshit and neither of us wants that.” She pulls on my arm and we both draw to a halt and I give her my full attention. “You hurt her, I hurt you. It's as simple as that.” For a moment I stand and blink at her in shock. Is she truly threatening me? “In a fair fight you could probably beat me. But if you ever make her cry you better sleep with one eye open.”

Somewhere in the back of my mind a little bit of respect begins to form for the youngest Weasley. She may not be fully aware of my abilities but she does know that I am a year her senior and therefore must have an advantage over her. Yet she still seeks me out and threatens me, out of some strong sense of loyalty for her friend. Considering her friend is someone I have come to care for deeply, it is no small comfort to know a girl such as this will protect Hermione with such ferocity, even if it is from me. With a small bow of my head I show my respect in the only way I know how. “I'll be sure to remember that.”

“It would be best if you do.” Her eyes sweep once more over me and her lips pull into a smile. “At least that's over with.” She then turns from me and begins to once more make her way across the frozen ground. The abrupt change in both her manor and subject leaves me still and speechless for a few seconds and I find myself having to jog to catch up with her. As I draw level she begins to speak. “So where are we going anyway?”

Still reeling from the change in her demeanour I answer. “The lake.”

Her nose crinkles in diastase. “At this time of year? Whatever for?”

I shrug my shoulders and let a small private smile cross my face. Hermione likes Black Lake. She once described it to me as the one point of absolute calm in her life. All year round she comes out here, even in weather such as this, ever since she learned the warming charms to take the edge off the cold.

We near her favoured edge of the embankment, the surrounding vegetation hiding the spot from view at most angles. On this particular occasion I discover that the solitude found in this place is far from favourable. The formulator crop of slicked back white blond hair only takes a moment to register in my mind and my wand is pulled from beneath my robes.

My eyes following the line of Malfoy's shoulders, one of them drooped towards the floor. His nose less than a hairs breath from Hermione's cheek. His jaw twitching and moving in speech, his voice too low for me to hear but by the way Hermione has turned her gaze away from him, her hand pushing uselessly against his chest, I'm certain that it can't be anything I would appreciate.

Trailing my eyes further down Malfoy's back my eyes are drawn to his right hand, his fingers pulling up the side of Hermione's skirt in a provocative way. She screams and his other hand snaps over her mouth, his fingers digging into the skin along her cheeks, pulling on her skin. Her screams although muffled do not cease and her struggling intensifies.

I feel my heart start to race in sheer fury and my shoulders bunch ready to attack. My eyes taking on a cold expression as I try to detach myself from the situation enough to be able to react. “Whatever happens, Ginny.” I feel her eyes on me a moment after I call her name. “Do not interfere.”

My stride quickens as I hastily make my way over to the pair, reaching a point only two-steps from his back I level my wand, slicing the tip up through the air, my arm crossing my body with the moment. The wording to the spell falling almost without thought from my lips. “Distinguo!” The spell catches his shoulder and roughly pulls him away from Hermione. The force in which I cast it throwing him through the air, landing heavily on his back several feet from us, the wind knocked clean out of his lungs. The look of horror and surprise on his face does nothing to quench my rage, nor the fire in my belly calling for vengeance.

Hermione reaches out for me and I step away from her touch. Not being able to have her comforting hands upon me when I feel as murderous as I do in this moment. I stride past her, not daring to look in her eyes. Frightened that if I see just a hint of either fear or tears I will tear him limb from limb right before her eyes. Instead deciding to set my sights on the blond headed boy who is slowly regaining his bearings after his flight, bringing his hands up and under his back to try and scramble backwards, away from me along the frozen ground. With my back ridged and my muscles tight I advance on him with long slow strides. “You...” I start, lacing numerous lethal threats throughout that single word.

He stops in his scampering and holds a hand out in front of him in a gesture of surrender. “Now, Desay. Be reasonable.”

“Reasonable?!” I yell, uncaring as my voice echoes across the still and frozen lake. My anger passes the point of reason and my limbs begin to shake because of it. “Under the circumstances I have been more than reasonable!”

He remains stock-still, holding has hand out in a pacifying gesture, just wanting me breath, watching me wait for him to give me a reason. Any motive to cause him pain. Lusting to hears his screams under my ministrations. “Look.” He pushes against the floor, conjuring all of his valour, bringing his feet under him in an effort to stand. “We were just...”

“No.” Aiming my wand at him for a second time, silently pushing him back to the ground, an invisible weight pushing painfully against his chest. He cries out, his back hitting the frozen ground with a hollow thud. “You stay down. I'm not even close to done with you, yet.” Holding my wand out, remaining unblinking even as my eyes begin to burn, forcing the concealed pain upon him, revealing in it as he continues to wither in torment beneath my curse.

Years of training pushes though cognitive thought, pushing reality far from my senses. Forcing me into a state of tunnel vision where there is only my victim and me. Only the curse and the pain.

His hands come up, clawing at his chest, his feet flailing, scraping against the dirt in an attempt to escape the agony I am inflicting upon him. “Stop.” His plea reaches my ears, his voice breaking and contorting under the strain, exciting me to the very bone.

Almost as if detached from my own skin I feel the side of my mouth lift in a feral grin, vaguely aware of an insistent tugging on my cloak and my name being called from behind me. I take a full step forward, closer to my pray and away from those annoying grasping hands. Twisting my wrist so the tip of my wand turns. Another cry of pain escapes his lips and my own experiences with this particular curse tell me that he feels as though his insides are slowly twisting along with the tip of my wand.

Those hands return, grasping the biceps of my upper arm and tugging at me, pulling my aim down and away from my victim. My muscles bunch and fight against the interruption. My name screamed down my ear repeatedly goes completely ignored. While in this state the word meaning nothing, having no place in my ravine of pain and torment.

Another shout erupts from Malfoy's chest. “Stop.” His breath catches and his hips twist against the ground to escape the pain. “She'll see.”

Immediately my eyes close and the curse ends, my jaw clenching beneath my skin my lust for blood and scream unquenched and rationality tugs at the edges of my consciousness, those two little words all that’s needed for a slither of humanity to slither into my mind. With just one breath my mind snaps back to reality and I drop my wand from its pose. Listening to the revealed gasping breaths of Draco Malfoy, Hermione still calling my name so close to my ear that I can feel her breath gliding across my skin. She drops her hand from my upper arm and closes her fingers over my wand. Her voice loses its urgency and she speaks against my flesh. “Let go.” Instinctively my grip tightens the true evilness of my nature may be beginning to retreat back into the darkness but unwilling to relinquish my weapon. “Please Jamie. Just let go.” Having to fight against my tightening muscles, I release the long strip of wood into her waiting grasp. Dragging long breaths in and out of my lungs in an attempt to calm my raging heartbeat. My neck twitching with rage, even as her palm reaches up to cup my face, gently urging my head to turn and I can feel her breath ghosting across my skin “Jamie.” She calls like a sirens song and my eyes open to find her concerned features studying me.

Rather than answer her call verbally my facial muscles tense still further, preventing a reply, two words rolling around in my head. 'She'll see' I almost can't believe he had the presence of mind to say those two words, which may have saved his miserable life. I cannot bear to have her see me like that. Detached and emotionless. I let my defences down and gave her a glimpse into a part of me that should have stayed buried, deep in the pit of my stomach for the rest of time.

Malfoy's laugh breaks the moment and I turn my gaze to watch him shakily clamber to his feet. “This is all very touching. But if you'll excuse us Desay. Me and the mudblood were having a moment.”

Muscles clench and rage threatens to turn my vision scarlet. Without having to think I’m turning toward him, wanting to hear that scream of anguish just one last time. Wanting to feel warm sticky blood passing between my fingers. Wanting to feel bones broken and windpipes crusted beneath my bear hands.

“Don't.” Hermione's voice calls to me, stopping my movement with a grip on the clothing and instantly I relent. “He's not worth it.”

“Oh please, Granger. Of course I am.” My sites set once again on Draco as he pulls the lapels of his robes to straighten them against his back. “But she won’t touch me now. Not with you around.”

I feel the growl rumbling through my throat and my limbs shuddering with restraint.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Hermione asks the blond boy.

The smile he pulls across his face borders on menacing. “She'll never risk you, seeing how evil she really is.”

If I still had my wand in my grip he would no longer be standing, nor breathing for that matter. For the first time I speak, my voice sounding hollow and distant even to my ears. “Hermione. Walk away.”

“No.” She says almost instantly. “You're not staying here.” She holds my gaze for several moments. Her eyes filled with defiance and her stance unwavering. You'd think after being the victim of an assault she would be a little more shook up about the whole thing. Instead she's here, holding my arm in her iron grip, trying to drag me away from her attacker. “Come on.”

Flicking my gaze once more to Malfoy's smiling face I resign myself to the gentle tugging on my arm and allow her to pull me away from the confrontation. Her stride forces me to turn my back and unease settles into my skin with the action. Ginny quickly closes her wide-open mouth with a snap and turns to walk with us.

“Don't go too far mudblood.” Malfoy calls out to our retreating forms. “We weren’t finished.”

When I try to turn again, two sets of hands grip and pull at my clothing and between the two women I am pulled from the clearing and along the shore of the Black Lake. Wordlessly they gently drag me along the water’s edge. The sound of Malfoy's laughter did impede their progress for a moment but between the two of them, they were eventually able to yank me under control.

When we are finally, safely out of earshot, Ginny loosens her grip but does not release me compeltly and pats a hand against my upper arm, pulling my attention in her direction. “Well. That was scary. You never said you could be scary.” The accusation in her tone is easy to hear, followed by her heavy breaths. She receives no answer from either of us and quickly steps ahead, turning on us, to halt our progress through the snow. “What the hell was that?” She shouts pointing one of her fingers in my direction.

Hermione's palm presses harder into the base of my back, presumably to prevent me from turning and finishing what I started only moments ago with the blond haired boy.

Ginny's still frantic breaths assaults my ears for a few long moments and she begins to pace across the small path, which has been cut through the snow. “Seriously. What the hell was all of that?” My anger is still burning against my throat and I find myself unable to answer. Unable to form a thought beyond turning and dashing back towards the black lake, now free from prying and judgmental eyes.

“One of you, fucking answer me!” Ginny's tone and volume rises with each passing syllable, her frantic breaths belaying her unhidden fear.

“Ginny.” Hermione's voice cuts her down, my own still being rendered useless by my seething rage. Yet something in her tone pushes through the sea of madness my mind has been swimming in. Her voice is low and small, where I would have expected her to yell with displeasure at the Ginny's foul language. Looking sidelong at her and letting the fog lift from my eyes I can see her shaking, trembling as she succumbs to her nerves. “Can we please talk about this inside?” Her breathing is shallow and all the colour has drained from her cheeks.

Instantly my anger drains away, replaced almost immediately with a deep concern for the woman still able to grip at my limbs with a will of iron. I had all but ignored her reaction to the events up until now and I am beginning to realize that she was not as unaffected by them as I first thought. “Hermione.” I call, my voice beginning to sound much more normal to my ears. Slowly her head lifts and her brown eyes look so tired, the heavy bags that have settled under them a stark contrast to her almost white skin.

Without further consideration I extract myself from her arms, having to take hold of her wrist when she tries to restrain me. I quickly pull her side on to me and swoop down towards the floor, lifting her legs at the knee. After taking her shoulder in my other arm I lift her, cradling her slight weight against my chest and begin to walk with purpose towards the castle, passing Ginny's shocked face along the way, knowing that without asking she will follow wherever I lead.

It takes only two strides along the frozen ground for Hermione to settle in my arms. Her arms reaching around my shoulders to steady her balance and her forehead pressed tightly against my throat. Her whole body still trembles against me, whether from cold, exertion, or fear I do not know but my only task is to get her shaking body safely inside the castle walls and to the shelter of her private rooms as quickly as I am able.

As I pass beneath the threshold of the castle door I feel the ghost of lips against my throat and a softly whispered “Thank you.” Both of which I am unable to respond to in words so as a token gesture I tighten by grip on her body momentary and head straight for the north tower of the school.

We make it to her door almost unimpeded; three other students stopped to ask to Hermione's welfare, I purposely strode around them and quickly escaped. Leaving Ginny, who had been trailing just a few paces behind me the entire time, to satisfy their curiosity. When we reach the doorway, Hermione has enough presence of mind to utter her password and I have to put the toe of my shoe against the wood to push it open. After quickly settling her down on her bed I move away from the two Gryffindors, turning my gaze out of her window, over the frozen grounds where I watch as Malfoy steady makes his way back from Black Lake across the snow covered ground.

I lean heavy against the windowsill, my eyes following his progress, biting against my tongue so I am not tempted to request my wand returned to me. I know I could shout a curse and hit him from this distance but still she would see the action and know a part of me I had hoped to keep hidden from her indefinitely.

Behind me the sound of Ginny's hurried footsteps enter the room and her heavy breaths tell me she has been running to keep up with my long quick stride. I hear the catch on the door click into place and close my eyes against the waves of accusations that are sure to follow.

“Are you alright Hermione?” Is the first thing she asks.

“I think so.” She answers after only a moment’s pause. “Jamie.” She says and I turn my head to show her that I have heard her call. “Are you okay?”

For a moment I have to consider her question. My anger is still bubbling beneath the surface of my skin. I may not wish such immediate retribution for my own suffering but what I caught him doing this afternoon was too much for me to bear. I would have ended his life right there and then had there been no witnesses. I would have slowly squeezed the life out of him and relished every moment, every cry, every plea to stop would have been like music to my ears. “I will be.” I answer, knowing that at least this once I must to calm her fears. My rage will calm or I will exact my vengeance, whichever opportunity presents itself first. So I can rest in the knowledge that at least I have not lied to Hermione on this occasion.

“You sure?” Ginny asks. “'Cause that was a little messed up. I really thought you were going to kill him.” I allow myself a private smile at her assessment. I wouldn't have just ended his life, I would have made each moment pure torture. “Was that a werewolf thing?”

“No.” I answer and immediately regret it. I had not even thought I could have passed off my behaviour this afternoon as a side effect for my disorder.

“Then what the hell was it?” Her tone is low and threatening.

I turn abruptly crossing my arms tightly over my chest and lean back against the windowsill. “Why are you so interested?” I purposely avoid the question. How can I possibly explain the thrill to hold someone’s life in your hands to the two women before me? That this sort of thing is what I had been trained since birth for and the absence of it from my life since I met Hermione on that day by the lake, has left me craving the suffering of another. This afternoon not only presented me with an opportunity to use those skills which have been dormant for so long but also an inexplicable need to protect Hermione from all of Malfoy's advances.

“Because...” Ginny shouts and then stops, her eyes darting from left to right in her eye sockets. “I need to know that Hermione is safe.”

“Ginny.” Hermione says in a low tone, giving her first contribution to the conversation. “She was protecting me.”

Ginny for her part looks us both over once and turns to direct her comment towards my girlfriend, who is currently leaning heavily against the headboard of her bed. “I need to hear it from her.”

Slowly I am gaining more and more respect for the youngest Weasley's loyalty towards her friends. I turn my attention to Hermione after only a moment of contemplation. “I will never turn my wand to you in that manner. That much I can promise you.”

Hermione turns her tired eyes to me. “Sweetheart, I already knew that.” I feel her eyes as they travel along the length of my body and she reaches a hand out to me. Wordlessly I stride to her. Taking her hand in mine and taking a seat on the bed next to her. My arm quickly settles into place along her shoulders and her head rests against my collarbone. I place my lips against her hair for a moment as feel her trembling limbs begin to calm under my touch.

“Alright then.” Ginny says, starting to wring her hands in a nervous gesture. “So what happens now?”

I clench my jaw slightly and play the likely scenes out in my head. I have spent enough time with Draco over the years to be able to predict his actions to certain extent, a talent that has proven useful on more than one occasion. “Draco is unlikely to file a complaint against me until you file one against him.”

Ginny pulls out the chair pushed under Hermione's desk and takes a seat with a confused look on her face. “How do you figure that?”

“It's a tactical use of information. If a complaint is filed against him, in this case his attack on Hermione. He will bring a second act to the table. Something that will overshadow his actions.” I say trying to explain the mechanics of this sort of complicated warfare in its simplest terms.

Ginny is catching on quickly as she adds. “In this case, the curse you put on him.” I nod at her to confirm her conclusion.

“Will that work the other way around?” Hermione asks.

It takes me a moment to answer as I ponder if my condition will have any bearing on any sort of outcome. His actions were not against me so it is doubtful. “Yes. Which is why he is very unlikely to bring it to light before you do.”

Hermione is quick to jump to a cause of action. “Then we have to agree here and now to keep quiet about this whole thing. At least until he says something.”

Pressing my lips against her hair again in thanks for her actions, I feel a compulsion to let her know that I would not think ill of her if she did wish to go to the teachers over this matter. “You don't have to do that for me.”

Her fingers close around the material of my shirt. “We both know Umbridge will expel you for this and I don't have any proof of what his intentions actually were.” She shudders against my side and my arms tighten around her for support. “Let’s not draw attention to this until he does.” After sending a meaningful look in Ginny's direction she continues. “Agreed?”

“If that's what you want.” Ginny says with a small thoughtful nod. She clears her throat, her eyes travelling over the two of us and our current position. “Well... It's getting late. I should leave you two alone.”

I cannot help but smile over the thin vale of tact coating her actions. These people I have found myself with are not ones for lies and deceit. Something, which I had thought, I would find frustrating but instead find myself enjoying not having to find double meaning in every word that is uttered in conversation. She quickly excuses herself and leaves us in comfortable silence.

A yawn from my companion draws my attention to her tired state and without moving from my comfortable, warm position at her side I say. “I should let you sleep.”

“You don't have to.” She says around another yawn.

“Yes I do.” I make a move to extract myself from her embrace and find my progress impeded by her hands grasping at my clothing.

“Will you stay with me?” Her voice is so small and vulnerable in this moment that all of my muscles freeze. “It's just... I don't want to be on my own and you make me feel safe.”

Knowing that she cannot see my face I feel my forehead crease in question. Even after countless hours of passion between the two of us I had not stayed in her rooms nor she in mine to sleep off the exertion. Insecurity tumbles up from my belly and into my throat at her request. I have never had opportunity or inclination to sleep with another for as long as I can remember and now I find myself terrified of doing something wrong with such a simple action. “Are you sure?” She nods against my chest and draws me closer to her. Setting aside my fears and misgivings I set myself a course of action. “Alright then. I need to go and get something to sleep in though.”

For a moment she is still, then she extracts herself from my embrace and shows me a sleepy smile. “Fine. Please don't be long.” Wordlessly I nod at her and clamber up from the bed. I have the door half way open before she speaks again. “And Jamie. Don't go looking for Malfoy.” Why must she always be so perceptive?


	12. Chapter 12: Intimate Moments

Chapter 12

This time I’m certain it's not me. This is all her. There is no conceivable way that this can be considered a regular sleeping arrangement. For the fifth time tonight I shuffle along the soft mattress beneath me and away from the clinging embrace of my girlfriend. My muscles twitching and turning to escape the heat radiating from her skin, which is threatening to smother me into the arms of Hades himself. Turning away I perch the length of my body along the edge of the bed, only to hear her sleepy moan of complaint. A knot of guilt knots in my chest at the noise, for a heart stopping moment thinking that I might have caused her harm with my attempts of escape. The mattress shifts ever so slightly behind me but her heavy even breaths indicate she still sleeps deeply and the thought quickly evaporates.

Both of my hands clench into tight fists, around the pillowcase under my head and I pray to all of the Gods I can call on by name, that this time she will stay where she is. Give me some degree of personal space so I am able to breath.

My muscles go stiff as I feel yet more movement behind me and a wondering hand runs along my abdomen. Her chest presses tightly along my back, her skin blazing hot against mine, feeling like an inferno along my skin, threatening to peal flesh from bone in its intensity. Her shift in position forces me to either remain stationary, endure the uncomfortable torment of her stretched so tightly against the length of me. Or retreat completely away from the bed, in the hope that I will be able to completely remove her from my personal space for long enough that I might be able to gather by bearings.

As the vague sense of suffocation settles all along my spine, I bite my tongue and close my eyes, hoping, praying that I will be capable of becoming accustomed to the sensation. At least enough that I might be able to untwist the muscles along my shoulders and breath with at a regular tempo, even if any thoughts of sleep were chased away, running and screaming into the dark night the moment she reached over to touch me.

She shifts again and her even breaths begin to cascade over the nape of my neck, which at any other time would prove to be highly erotic. Right at this moment, however all it does it make my skin craw and a cold sweat to erupt all over my body, a strange sensation, contracting completely with the head her body is imitating, to engulf me.

After only being able to stand the feeling of my strained and shaking muscles for a few heartbeats, I reach down and gently remove her arm from around my abdomen, setting it down against the mattress behind me, as gently as possible as not to rouse her. Then quickly vacate the warm comfort of her bed, booking a hasty retreat across the room and settle into the chair at her desk. My elbows rest heavily on its wooden surface letting my head drop forward into my waiting hands, weary and exhausted but completely unable to drop into the realms of Morpheus.

Something about this entire situation feels wrong, am I just completely incapable of accepting a show of affection or are her movement overly suffocating? Why is it that I can quite happily feel the length of her naked flesh along the whole length of my body as she withers in ecstasy? Or I am content to hold her in my arms to provide her comfort? Yet I am unable to transfer that easy physical contact to situations such as this. She seems to have no problem with this particular sleeping arrangement, being able to fall into the realms of Morpheus within moments of settling beneath the sheets with me. So why am I still wide-awake, lying rigidly beside her for countless hours? Unable to sleep, hardly able to breathe and all the time I cannot decide whether the fault lies with her or me.

“Jamie?” Her sleepy voice stings against my ears and I feel myself flinch against is, unseen in the darkened room. “What are you doing up?” Her voice is groggy with sleep and I hear the bed shift as she changes her position.

After taking a deep breath and removing my head from my hands I look up and try to pull a reassuring smile across my face, in the hope it might be evident in my voice. “Nothing. Go back to sleep.” The smile drops from my face the moment I fall quiet, feeling like a sickening lie against my cheeks and making me feel unclean in its wake. How can I answer her with any semblance of truth when she speaks to me with such blind innocence? She had not meant to cause me discomfort. That much I can be certain of. Either she is utterly unaware of her movement or I am irrationally fearful of them.

“Come back to bed.” Somehow she makes it sound like a plea, not a demand or even a request. She wants me in her bed and I cannot for the life of me understand why. It's too hot with another under the covers and there's not enough room. So you're forced to sleep close to each other, provoking yet more warmth. “What's the matter?” The softly spoken question is enough for me to realize that I have taken too long to either respond to her or comply with her request.

“Nothing.” I answer easily, my tongue feeling like lead in my mouth preventing me from voicing my concerns. It's in this moment that I wish I had the words, silently yearning for the capability to explain myself adequately. To be able to articulate the distress I feel, at having her so close to me while I attempt to slumber. Her secure hold, meant to be comforting and protective, fills me with dread. Why is this so difficult? Every new situation, every fresh experience feeling like a mountain to climb but I have no prior experience to draw on. Left drowning in a sea of unexpressed emotion, all glazed over with a simple, single lie. 

The bed creaks under her weight and I am only aware of her moving towards me when her wand appears in my vision and she quickly lights a candle at her desk. Her skin is cool against my face as she turns me to face her. Her concerned eyes scan by features as she blinks away the lasting effect of sleep. “Are you alright?” Had she heard something in my voice? Could it be possible that even in the inky blackness of the room she might have detected my reluctance to speak further? Or is it simply the fact that I am half way across the room without any plausible rationale?

“I'm just...” Several words float through my head for a moment as I pause. Words like, insecure and uncomfortable. Not the lie I tell her to try and save face. “Restless.”

Both of her eyebrows rise in disbelief. “You look exhausted.” She states and I feel my jaw clench at her observation. “Come back to bed.”

I sigh, defeated by my own inability to voice my true feelings or at the very least conceal the sufficiently. Slowly I nod blowing out the candle as I rise from my seat. Letting her led me by the hand, back over towards the imposing bed. She clambers beneath the covers and lifts the edge for me. Without any credible excuse I lower myself back down to the firm mattress and pull the covers over my legs and chest. Immediately stiffening when her head lands on my chest and her body wraps itself along my side. It is now clear that being this close to me that even while awake she views this contact as acceptable, even desirable. Perhaps I am the one at fault.

Hermione being Hermione notices the change in me almost instantly and lifts herself up by her arms, one on either side of my chest. The small unconscious gesture makes me feel trapped beneath her and a deep sense of claustrophobia settles on my chest.

I cannot see her features in the dimly lit room but I can feel her eyes on me. Burning me with their intensity, as they uselessly scan my face. “What is it?” All signs of sleep have left her voice, the tone gently demanding a truthful answer from me. My teeth grit in frustration and I remain silent. She sighs deeply and I feel her lips press lightly to the clenched muscles along my jaw. Her head rests close to mine on the pillow as she settles back down with a calming breath. Her arm is still across my chest, feeling like a lead weight, forcing the air out of my lungs. “Please sweetheart, tell me what's wrong.”

Taking a shaky breath and consciously biting back my stubborn pride I say the first thing that jumps to the tip of my tongue. “You're suffocating me.” Her response is immediate and unexpected. Her arm retreats and she pulls herself away from me so we are no longer touching. I feel the weight against my chest lift and I can breathe again. I had not anticipated that outcome. I thought she might disregard my discomfort completely. Or pull more of her weight over me so I would become more accustomed to the feeling. Under normal circumstances this behaviour would interest me, her natural responses directly counteracting anything I have come into contact with before. Yet all I feel is immense gratitude for the personal space she is now giving me. “Thank you.”

The silence that falls over us if deafening in its intensity, the lack of light prevents me from searching her face to see her reaction to my outburst but her even breathing and her stiff muscles tell me that she is thinking intently on the matter.

I turn my head to the side and stare at the outline of her body, hoping for some indication as the direction of her thoughts. She takes a breath as if to speak but remains quiet, for several long moments. “I'm suffocating you?” She says. She voices it as an uneasy question, almost nervous at my answer.

My forehead creases in confusion, unseen in the darkness. What can she have to be nervous about? “You were.” I answer carefully, not quite certain what else there is to say on the topic.

“I'm not now?” She asks after only a short pause.

I maneuver myself onto my side, straining my eyes in the dark to try and see what has her so worried. “I've said something wrong.”

“No.” She replies quickly. She pauses, heaving a heavy sigh and I can almost hear her thought process, jumping around behind her eyes with such speed that I scarcely think I would be able to keep up. Her posture is enough to inform me that she has something she wishes to put voice to, so I wait in silence feeling my own heartbeat beginning to clamber up my throat with nerves.  “Am I to clingy?” She finally bursts out.

Still a little unsure as to what she is asking me, I decide that honesty would serve me best in this situation. “You are when you sleep.”

“Oh.” She pauses and it is at this point when I become convinced that we are discussing two different things. “Just when I sleep?”

Reaching out and running two of my fingers gently along her cheek, hoping that the contact is at least a little soothing. “Hermione. What exactly are you trying to ask me?”

There is no pause before she speaks, just an underlying tone of grim determination. “Am I suffocating you in this relationship?”

“What?” I ask without giving myself time to process her question and it takes a moment for the Knut to drop with a clatter in my mind. “No. I...urm.” I'm struck dumb. This is almost exactly the same question I was asking myself only moments before and I still have no acceptable answer. “You cling to me. In your sleep.” I halt my speech. Unsure if I am making the whole situation worse by clumsily trying to explain it. “I just can't sleep when you're so close.” My palm rests against her skin, my thumb grazing her cheekbone lightly, as if the physical contact would show her, what I cannot express in words.

I feel her smile beneath my fingers and her hand rests over mine. “I can work around that.” Why would she do that? Why would she work around my fears and insecurities? It's clear to me that this form of contact is something she craves, even while she is in a deep sleep. Why does she not just take it from me? It is simple enough, especially while I am in the bed beside her. Yet she is willing to put aside her own desires for mine. I wordlessly contemplate this, keeping my eyes trained on the outline of her body, until my persistent silence finally forces her to sigh in frustration. “Jamie. You're doing that thing again.”

“What thing?” I ask feigning ignorance.

“You're thinking so loudly but not saying a word.” She moves a little closer to me now that I am no longer trying to sleep I welcome the contact, another inconsistency in my insecurities. Her fingers run along my hairline and weave between the stands she finds there. “What are you thinking so intently about?”

“Why?” She stays quiet after my very vague question as if she intuitively knows that I fully intend to clarify but have yet to find the words to express myself. “You'd just stop? Just like that?”

“I'll try. I'm asleep. I can't really control it but you can still push me off you.”

“Why?” I ask again, still not totally understanding her viewpoint. “It's clear you want to hold me in your sleep. Why would you stop?”

“Why would you lie awake, for hours, suffering in silence?” I can feel her eyes on me as she waits for an answer that I am unable to give her. She turns her head resting her lips lightly against my wrist. “Get some sleep.” She says after many moments and turns onto her other side, presumably to stop her from draping herself over me as she rests.

“Hermione.” I call to her back; she makes a content grumble in the back of her throat to show she is listening to me. “Thank you.”

I can hear the small smile in her voice as she speaks. “Go to sleep Jamie.”

Without her constant presence to crowd and overheat me, I am free to allow my exhaustion to quickly pull me down in the depths of Morpheus' domain.

~~~~---~~~~

I am pulled sharply from my slumber and my eyelids snap open as the first rays of morning light appear over the horizon. The dim light of the pre-dawn filters through the curtains and fills the room with a celestial glow. The dawn chorus can be heard, although muffled, filtering up from the wilderness below the northern tower.

Under a stage compulsion I gently rise from the bed, careful not to wake my sleeping companion, who has made good on her word and has stayed on her side of the mattress for the latter part of the night, allowing me to rest. My feet drag me to the window and I push back one of the curtains to see the first rays of light indicate the start of a new day.

Pulling myself up onto the windowsill and curling my knees for more balance on the small ledge, I rest my head against the cool glass to afford myself a better view as Apollo begins his daily journey across the sky. Taking in each and every moment of the winter sunrise. Watching, as the light catches the thick layer of snow, making it sparkle like a carpet of diamonds.

I hear Hermione stir but cannot pull my gaze away from this beautiful, natural, miracle. She grumbles something incoherent and turns onto her back in a light doze, leaving me in to my musings in peace.

I don't lift my head from the window until I have seen the entire spectacle and, as if lifted from a trance, I drag my eyes across the room to find another beauty waiting for me inside. With her head turned in my direction, she has a small smile on her face, her hooded eyes watching me intently.

I begin to feel uncomfortable with the scrutiny and uncharacteristically break the easy silence hanging in the air between us. “What?”

“You.” She ignores the questioning look on my face and proceeds to pull herself into a sitting position, pushing her legs over the side of the bed and stretching her arms above her head. “You looked so captivated. I didn't think you would like something as mushy as sunrises.”

With a heat creeping up the side of my neck I try to brush off her observation. “Not as mushy as sunsets.”

“Well that depends on if you stay up all night to watch it rise.” She says a glint in her eye.

With an eyebrow raised I give her my deadpan reply. “Well we didn't.”

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment and concedes. “True. Some other time perhaps.” She ignores the look on my face and promptly changes the subject. “Are you feeling better this morning?”

“I have the distinct sense, that I should be asking you that.” Her attack yesterday evening has as of yet remained an unexplored subject and I have very little idea on how she handling the incident.

She shakes her head to the negative and quickly dispels my worry. “He didn't do anything.”

“He would have.” I am quick to point out.

“Yes.” She agrees and lifts her eyes to meet my gaze. “Somehow I don't think he'll try that again anytime soon.” She refers to my impulsive actions and I stay quiet on the matter imploring her with my eyes not to explore that particular topic at this time. She reads my face perfectly and says very softly. “We can talk about that later.” A bright twinkle of mischief enters her eyes and instantly the sombre mood lifts from the room. “Right now, I just want to know what you're doing all the way over there.” She places her hands flat behind her and leans back heavily on her arms. I am unsure if she is aware that she is a very enticing site in such a position, by the gleam in her eyes and the smirk on her face I would think it is fair to say that she had intended to be to tantalising.

My feet land quietly on the thick rug covering the stone floor and my long stride swallows the distance between us in a matter of seconds. Slowly, and a little unsure of my actions, I lean down and gently cover her lips with my own, reaching out with one hand for balance so I do not topple over and crush her beneath my weight.

Her fingers thread lightly in my hair, tugging at my scalp, pulling me closer and encouraging my actions. Our lips quickly fall into an ancient rhythm, lighting a blazing fire of desire deep in my belly. She lowers herself backwards leading me further onto the bed. My knees land on either side of her thigh, my torso stretches out along the length of her, with my arms bearing most of my weight. One long lock of our lips yields to another without even pause for breath, our bodies mounding and pressing together in a sensual meeting of heated flesh.

Gone are the deep-seated feelings of suffocation from the early hours, chased away by the blinding run. Leaving behind a body craving the contact of its counterpart. Feeling complete in her firm hold, coming home after so many weeks of feeling so lost without thoughts of her satisfaction to guide me through the days.

I feel her touch as her fingers slip beneath my long t-shirt to softly stoke along each patch of skin she exposes. I feel months of repressed lust explode throughout my body and all I can feel; all that I need is her touch.

My hips press downwards into her, pushing my thigh close to her centre and I feel her gasp into my open mouth at the sensation. Her hand travels north, along my back bunching up the material of my t-shirt on its journey, steadily exposing my skin to the air. Her lips drive forward and capture mine in a series of heated kisses almost catching me by surprise in their intensity. It appears these long weeks apart have affected her as much as they have me.

Shifting all of my weight onto my left, I trail my fingertips along her arm and down onto her covered thigh. With a deep need to feel her flesh, I gather her nightgown between my digits, rhythmaticaly bunching my hand into fist to slowly gather the offending material up her leg until the hem grazes my fingertips. Her grip tightens in my hair as my hand dips under her nightgown and my palm flattens against her satin skin, greedily grasping all I can reach.

The ghost of nails can be felt against my back, sparking pleasurable sensations along my body and settling between my legs. Of their own accord my hips shift, pressing downwards, seeking friction against her body. Hoping to be able to release the tension she is building deep in my belly with every movement. 

My hand makes it way up her thigh and when I graze the edge of her underwear a throaty moan escapes her. I push back and away from her, my breathing as heavy and ragged as hers, and for just a few heartbeats, cold blue eyes meet the deepest brown, searching for any sign of hesitation or reluctance. For I know if we take this contact any further I will be more than a little disinclined to stop.

All I find in those beautiful eyes is passion and desire and I push heavily against the bed to sit back on my hunches, it only takes her a moment to sit up and follow the movement, her hands flat against my skin, reaching up under the marital covering it. Impatient and insistent in their desire for contact.

Almost as soon as her back leaves the mattress I have her nightgown bunched in both hands around her abdomen. Needing the full length of her body bore to my sight and touch. I tug and pull at the material until it slips over her head and raised arms, dropping it behind me onto the floor. Blindly discarding it, not able to remove my eyes from the beauty before me.

Hands touch flesh, thumbs graze the side of heaving breasts and eyes soak up exposed skin, long ago every dip and swell of her had been seared into my memory. Not an inch of her has changed since I last laid eyes across her skin but still it feels undiscovered, fresh and new, yet still comfortable and secure. I know every patch of skin that will make her moan but still crave to caress every inch of her, discover what might have been missed and reacquaint myself with all that was lost. Too long, it has simply been too long since I have been permitted to cast my gaze over her in such a way. She remains still under my intense appraisal of her body until my eyes lift to meet hers. “You are absolutely stunning.” I say, hardly able to recognize my own voice from its drastic drop in pitch.

Her whole face beams at my praise and her fingers bunch in the material of my t-shirt. Tugging at it lightly and it doesn’t take much convincing for me to reach down and pull it over my head in one, swift movement. I only permit her a few moments to let her eyes travel across my exposed skin, before leaning down and capturing her lips in an enticing dance.

Pitching my weight forward to push her back onto the mattress, I begin a slow exploration under my hands to rediscover her alluring curves. To once more experience all of the points along her skin, which make her gasp and squirm with excitement.

Her arms wrap securely around my ribs and nails bite into my back pushing our torsos so close that breasts meet breasts and stomachs touch between us, lighting sparks of passion all along my body kindling the raging inferno of desire curled in the pit of my belly.

All too soon the gentle caress becomes too subtle, not nearly enough to sate my hunger for her. My lips leave hers and trail a slow path along her jaw, travelling along the column of her throat my tongue laps at the junction between neck and shoulder as I enjoy the shudders racking her body under my ministrations.

Her fingers fold into the stands of my hair as I continue my descent of her body, tightening when my lips graze the swell of her breasts. I enjoy the taste of the supple flesh for several moments before I feel the unconscious push against my crown to encourage my journey south. With a combination of my own greed and desire I do not resist the gentle urging and quickly fold my body to envelop the sensitive flesh of her nipple between my lips.

At the first contact of her sensitive flesh, her hips rise from the bed, pressing deeply against my need. My eyes close against the sensation needing to rein in my own sounds of passion to be able to concentrate on my task. I push my tongue against the sensitive peak, contrasting with the suction of my lips and listen to her moans and cries. Each sounds permeating my senses and travelling down to my damp core.

She softly moans my name and my mind becomes frenzied in its incessant need to hear it a second time. Without thought my hips grind down, pushing my thigh against her, halting her breath for a moment and her muscles tense beneath me. Her fingers leave my hair and I feel them against my hips, pushing against the loose shorts around them. I release the trapped flesh from between my lips and seek out her eyes with mine. Within the murky dark brown irises I find the same desperation for the intimate contact that I feel mirrored in my own.

With her excitement driving mine to such a fevered pitch, I stand from the bed, catching her underwear and pulling it down her thighs where it joins the rapidly growing piles of clothing on the floor. As she pulls herself further onto the bed I step out of my shorts and underwear in record breaking time. Immediately crawling up the bed to straddle one of her thighs and rest the length of my body along hers.

Our lips meet, instantly setting a frantic pace. With tongues stroking tongues fighting a futile battle of dominance in which neither of us care for victory. I slid a hand between our bodies, seeking out the socked flesh between her thighs, feeling her body tense and then tremble at the welcome intrusion. I find the small nub between her folds which has her moaning deeply into my mouth and thrashing around beneath me, inadvertently pushing her body into mine and cause my excitement to spill down the inside of my thighs.

My hips shoot forward and it takes my lust filled mind a moment or two to register her hands are in no way idle, her curious digits are exploring my drenched intimate folds. Without pause she enters me and I quickly forget how to breathe. I pull myself away from her lips becoming accustomed to the fullness inside of me, muscles all along my back trembling in anticipation, lungs burning for fresh air to be inhaled.

She remains still; her only movement is her hand holding my cheek to keep me grounded.

When breath finally comes to me I enter her, feeling her clench tightly around my fingers. I remain as still as I am able, resisting the temptation to strike up a rhythm, however gentle, giving her the same time to adjust as she afforded me. Her hips grind down into me as my only sign to continue.

It takes only heartbeats before we fall into a frantic rhythm. My lips travel down the column of her neck and my teeth lightly graze her flesh. Each thrust of my hand met with a roll of her hips and a cry of passion tumbling forth from between her lips.

Without warning orgasm curls in my belly and explodes. My whole body becomes ridged and lights spark behind my eyes with its intensity. She cries out into my ear, her nails digging into the skin at my shoulder, and I can feel her inner walls clamp down around my fingers indicating her own release.

For a few moments I stay right where I am, just learning how to breathe again. Taking long deep breaths and lacking the functioning brain capacity to move from my position. Slowly I pull my fingers from inside of her and after placing a long kiss to her cheek I drop to one side and roll onto my back.

She rolls to the side and moulds herself along my body with her head resting on my shoulder, her leg bending at the knee, hooking over my hip. It only accrues to me for a moment at this present time I welcome the close contact, which only a few hours ago I could not cope with, before wrapping my arm around her shoulder blades and pull her still closer, dropping my lips to her sweat soaked hair.

We both remain silent. Just enjoying each other’s company and the post organic bliss until both of our breathing has evened out to a natural rhythm.

Her fingers trail along my skin, making indistinguishable patens between my breasts, drawing designs in the rapidly drying layer of perspiration which coats me. My eyes are drawn to her fingertips, trying to count how many times we have been in this position before, finding the number to astronomical to be accurate.

“I’ve missed this.” She suddenly says, breaking the silence with a whisper.

The ghost of her touch dips lower towards my belly and I weave my fingers between hers before she can reach any parts of my body that are ticklish, brining her knuckles to my lips. “Which bit?” I ask, hoping that any information she could provide I can use at a later date.

She chuckles slightly, “Well, all of it I suppose. But this mostly.”

That is intriguing. I had thought she might divulge single technique that brings her more pleasure so I might concentrate on it. Instead she refers to the aftermath, the quiet after the raging storm. “Why is that?”

Her fingers squeeze around mine. “I always felt close to you like this.” I let my fingertips graze along the skin of her shoulder in a gently caress, feeling her nuzzle against me in unspoken application. “It always felt like you wanted me, not just… the physical aspect of it. I could just close my eyes and pretend what we had was a real relationship.”

I feel my forehead crease in confusion, what we used to have may not have been public knowledge until recently but surely it was some form of relationship. I can hear by the tone of her voice that she meant the word to carry more weight but I cannot for the life of me understand the difference in dynamics. “Is it now?” She presses against the mattress and lifts herself over me to she can look into my eyes, wordlessly asking me to clarify. “Is what we have now a real relationship?”

Mutely she blinks at me for several long moments, looking bewildered by my question. “Yes.” She says with an insistence in her voice I had not expected.

Immediately my whole body springs on the defensive. “I’ve upset you.”

“No.” She says looking away from me, lowering herself to the bed and in doing so, leavening my embrace. Both her actions and the weaver in her voice contradict her words.

“Yes I have.” I push myself up, bending my arm and resting my weight along my forearm so I can look down on her, keeping a keen eye on her body language as I speak. “I simply don’t understand the difference.” The honesty I portray feels uneasy on my tongue, I am not used to expressing my misgiving towards anything. But still I started this discussion and it would be unfair to leave it open ended. “I appreciate that the relationship has changed, drastically in fact. Yet what we had before was at least some form of relationship.”

Her tongue presses forward to moisten her lips, her eyes glazed in thought. “Do you prefer what we had before?”

I can say categorically that there is only one correct answer. It is fortunate that my feelings, on this matter at the very least, run parallel with hers and I am able to be truthful. “No. Your body is enticing.” To prove my point I rest my plan against her abdomen, following its progress and it runs along her skin and up her side. “Wondrous in every way and if it were all you were offering I would take it in an instant, just to be near you. But I still want more than that.” My hand turns to run the back of my fingers against her skin. “All of you. Every…” Suddenly my mind is blank, losing all thought and once more unable to express myself properly. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this.”

“I think you’re doing quite well.” She says and the smile in her voice convinces me that it is safe to meet her gaze. She leans up with a softly whispered. “Thank you.” Before drawing back and running her hand along my cheek in reassurance. “I think I needed to hear that.”

Leaning forward she captures me in her kisses, beginning our dance of rapid breaths and entangled limbs all over again.


	13. Chapter 13: Wolf's Bane

** Chapter 13  **

"This is just impossible." Ron huffs falling into his seat before his simmering cauldron and dropping his chin into his hands with a deep scowl pulled across his face. Looking quite possibly the most dejected I have ever seen him, which is an achievement in itself.

"It's not impossible Ron." Hermione says lowering the flame under her own brew, allowing it to simmer lightly.

"Yes. Yes it is." Ron said in an exasperated whisper. "It is impossible for _me_ to do this. That's why you have a perfectly made, bubbling purple portion. And I seem to have created this smelly, black goo... Again!"

"Everything is impossible if we give up on the first try." The words tumble out of my mouth before I give myself pause to stop them. Something my mother taught me many moons ago, that has stuck with me all this time.

"Easy for you to say." His bad temper turns on me. "You're always good in this lesson."

"You only judge on what you see." I observe, interested by the thought. Even after the past few days it is baffling how much these three take at face value and yet they have survived for so long. They see that I am able to brew a potion such as this and immediately assume that this is the first time I have attempted it. They do not realize the hours spent perfecting these skills and learning techniques passed down through generations. Under my father’s watchful gaze and heavy hand.

It is possible that it is the effects of spending so much time around Hermione, which has given them this blinkered view of the world. Hermione is a natural at everything magical. She can literally read a passage from almost any book and directly apply it to the world around her. Read the method to a potion and be able to replicate it perfectly. Hear the words to a spell only once and be able to cast it with little effort. I have seen this in action and it is indeed remarkable.

I am not so fortunate. The skills that I show to the inhabitants of this school are the product of countless hours of practice and patience from a very early age. My father was well versed in the laws and procedures surrounding under aged magic and was able to shroud me from sight. Leaving him to teach me these spells and potions without the Ministry breathing down his neck.

In my opinion if Hermione had the opportunity and inclination to apply herself in the same way that I had in my formative years she would by this point be able to hold her own against Dark Lord himself.

I can feel the three sets of eyes on me waiting for me to continue, something of which I have little intention of doing. "You're going to have to elaborate a bit, Jamie." Ron prods, as always using his hands to extenuate his speech.

I pull a small smile across my face, unwilling to reveal these childhood secrets, especially when in such a crowded place. Instead I change the topic of conversation to something I am sure would interest Ron much more than my childhood years. "You’re chopping not slicing the Asphodel."

"What?" He says. Not following the rapid change in direction of the discussion.

Taking the aforementioned plant root from the desk I lower the heat on my own brew and take it over to him. "It's why your potion is too thick."

"What's the difference?" He asks.

I raise my eyebrow in his direction in sheer disbelief before quickly turning my gaze to Hermione.

She only holds her hands up in surrender. "I've tried to explain. More than once. Stop looking at me like that."

Ron throws his hands up in frustration. "I don't get it. Slicing or chopping. It still gets cut up."

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that to me." I say, lightly. Under normal circumstances such a comment would have made my blood boil. Since this morning’s activities with my girlfriend however my good mood has been unwavering. Regardless of how many stupid comments I hear. "Let's start with the basics. There are twenty-four different methods of cutting ingredient."

"Twenty-four?" He asks his mouth hanging open at the implication.

Not wanting to push him into a state of shock I refrain from mentioning the sub categories for almost all of these methods. "All of them distinct in their own way. All of them mentioned and described in every potion book you will ever own."

"Really?" He asks his face and voice showing how little trust he places in the statement.

"Really." I answer, flicking through his textbook to the appropriate section among the last few pages and showing it to him.

"Oh." He says taking the text from within my grasp and casting his eyes across it as if it were nothing more than an illusion. "Well, would you look at that?" After a few moments of scanning the page his eyes turn back to me. "You can tell what I did wrong? Just by looking at the potion?"

"No." I answer vaguely. Many years of manipulating others from the sidelines has proved that a high degree of observation is in order. Over the years I have been able to develop an uncanny ability to be able to watch many of the happenings around me without being seen. It is a long lasting habit that I am loath to break as it has proved useful on more than one occasion.

Most of his face screws up in confusion. "You're not going to tell me are you?" At least he is learning.

"No." Is the only answer he gets from me before I make my way back over to my finished potion and turn off the heat from under it. I take my seat and wordlessly fold my arms and await Snape to make his way around the class to give his marks.

Ron sighs in defeat after looking at his watch, knowing that he does not have the time to start the potion again, and after turning off the flame gives me one last glance. "Why are you always so cryptic?" He asks before slowly beginning to pack away his possessions.

Distractedly I reply. "Practice." Letting my eyes follow the potions master around the room as he moves from student to student commenting on their efforts.

"One of these days..." He pauses and pulls my attention in his direction. "I swear you are going to give me a straight answer to a straight question."

This is when Hermione decides to join in the conversation with a small chuckle. "I wouldn't hold your breath Ron."

Harry, with the aid of his tweezers, drops a very tiny amount of powdered Burdock into his potion, his immense concentration preventing him from conversing with us up until this point. After pulling his tongue from between his molars he turns to us with a mischievous grin on his face. "We could start asking cryptic questions? Would that work?"

"Depends on what you would describe as a cryptic question." I say my eyebrow raised in challenge.

He opens his mouth to speak and draws breath, only to crease his eyebrows and close his mouth into a thin line. He attempts to pose his question several more times before turning back to his potion. "I'll have to get back to you on that."

"So it would seem."

"Shut up." He playfully retorts and carelessly adds the final ingredient to his mixture. The reaction as soon as the small dead insect hits the liquid is immediate. With a small crack and a long fizzle the mixture bubbles over the side of the cauldron and a thick blanket of smoke erupts from it. Moulding into a mushroom shape right in front of Harry's face. He coughs and splutters, waving his hand over the cauldron and quickly reaching for his wand to extinguish the flame. "What did I do wrong this time?" He asks rhetorically.

Staying in my position and showing that I am in no way surprised by the outcome I calmly state. "Read the board."

It only takes him a moment to realize that he had missed not one but two steps from the method, which is written in chalk along the backboard at the head of the class. "Oh bugger." He drops into his seat in frustration. "You could have told me."

"Then what would you have learned?" I ask, looking suspiciously at the cloud of smoke slowly dispersing around the room.

"Mr. Potter." Though I had not taken my gazes from Snape for a moment I am still amazed at how quickly he can stride across the room to chastise Harry at any given opportunity. "Yet another show of incompetence?"

"Sorry professor." Harry mumbles lowering his gaze to the ruined potion.

He shakes his head ever so slightly, looking down his long crooked nose for a few long moments at the black haired boy. "Ten points from Gryffindor and clean up this mess before you leave." He only glances over to Ron's think gunk lining the base of his cauldron before heaving a very frustrated sigh, waving his wand and cleaning up the mess. He moves swiftly on, only nodding in approval at Hermione's work, being unable to pick fault. All too soon he is standing before me and I refuse to loosen my defensive stance, pulling my arms tighter around my chest and hope that he will make no comment on the mixture within my cauldron. The last thing I want to hear is his praise after he has shot down my friends at my side so vigorously. Thankfully all my prayers are answered and he only hums in the back of his throat. He taps his wand once with a hollow clang against the side of the cauldron’s metal rim, clearing it of its contents. "Stay behind after this lesson."

Was he able to read my thoughts or my body language? Or is he simply perceptive enough to know that any form of praise in that moment would have been received poorly? I have never been known to look a gift Pegasus in the mouth and as such I stop myself from asking as to his motives. "Yes sir."

Everyone around me is slowly packing away their belongings so I know I will not have to wait long to exchange a private word with the professor.

Ron for once using all of the tact he possesses, waits until the potions master is out of earshot to comment. "What the hell could he want to see you for?" He looks around to his friends as if they might impart him with the answer. Harry for his part looks just as confused and the red headed boy and Hermione quickly averts her gaze so she will not need to answer him. Ron's blue eyes land once again on me and he whispers in outrage. "That potion was bloody perfect."

I shrug, hoping he might overlook the stiffening of my muscles with the action. The date is by no means lost on me. Tomorrow is the full moon. He did inform me I would need to see him the day before for a draft of Wolfs Bane and for him to show me where I will be spending the night.

In truth I had hoped to avoid the conversation for as long as possible. The new circle of friends Hermione has inducted me into, have made little to no mention of my condition over the past week. The result has been that I have felt almost normal. Almost human. I had hoped I may have been able to prolong that feeling for just a few more hours.

"I'll catch you up." I say in an attempt to direct the three friends out of the door and down to the Great hall for dinner.

Hermione ducks her head under the strap of her satchel and casts her eyes over me. Offering to stay for moral support without voicing her concerns. The slight shake of my head is minimal so as not to draw attention to our silent exchange. After a long sigh she follows the two boys from the classroom.

Sitting at the back of the classroom certainly has its flaws. As each and every student passes me by a multitude of different looks are thrown my way, along with a collection of snide remarks from my fellow Slytherins.

It doesn't take long for the room to empty, the potions master pays me little attention as he fusses around his desk, flicking his wand in all directions to clear the blackboard and clean spilled potions from tops of desks. The only sign he shows that he isn't completely ignoring my presence is a short glance he sends to the back to the classroom wordlessly indicating that I should go to him at the head of the room.

After of sigh of annoyance over the silent summons. I lift my bag from the floor at my feet and throw it carelessly over my shoulder, descending the stone stairs. Coming to an uneasy stop at the teacher’s desk just as Snape takes his seat behind it. He leans back heavy and casts his gaze over me several times before he chooses to speak. "It is good to see that your skill in potions is, at last, starting to show through."

I offer him no more than a tight-lipped smile at his praise. For the past four years, I have taken many steps to hide my skills from the rest of the school's population. It has been my experience that those who excel intellectually receive an abundance of attention something, which has never suited my purpose before this time.

It is however very difficult not to compete with Hermione. She is, by nature, very competitive. She in no way encourages anyone to contend with her but finds a huge amount of satisfaction with being the smartest witch of her age and having the grades to show for it.

I know that if I excel at a lesson or task she will in turn subconsciously try with all of her might to best me. Which in turn will further her knowledge and advance her skills to a higher degree than she would achieve with study alone.

I am certain that when the boy who lived asked for me to begin teaching him and his friends the arts of magic this deceptive method is not exactly what he had in mind.

However these efforts were not designed to be noticed by any third party. Snape's observation over the change in my performance is not something that I had anticipated. Though with the gift of hindsight I now see that such an outcome was inevitable.

He waits far longer than most would for some form of verbal answer from me. Something, which I hasten to add, is not forthcoming. Stubbornly his eyebrows rise in question and the small action indicates that it would be disrespectful for me to delay a response further. So begrudgingly I clear my throat to speak. "I have always had passing grades." I inform him.

"Very true. Though before this week I would not have graded you above Acceptable. Today you are pushing an Outstanding." The look in his eye and the sly smile on his face are exactly the response I had been trying to avoid these past years.

Carefully avoiding his eyes I offer him a simple. "Thank you Professor." Bushing off the approval and hoping that we can simply move the conversation forward and away from this topic I say, "You wanted to see me?"

His eyes narrow to slits, leaving me under no illusion that by attempt at a subtle subject change has not gone unnoticed. Regardless he pulls a small flagon; the cork pushed tightly into the neck, from beneath his robes and rests it against the surface of her desk.

After a lengthy pause I take up the ominous container. "Wolfs bane." I state, already loathing the substance.

"Part of it." He says and my gaze quickly turns to meet his bottomless black eyes. "This potion is very complex. It must be taken in two parts, the day before a transformation and just as the sun is setting the following day. The timing is critical."

"You want me to take this now?" Worrying my bottom lip and tossing the flagon around in my grasp I wonder how long I can delay this. "What will happen to me?"

"It is my hope that nothing will happen in the next twenty four hours. There are, however, common side effects."

"Such as?"

"Everyone reacts slightly differently to the potion but the most common side effects are nausea and fatigue. Though for your first try I would expect almost anything." I feel myself swallow my fear at his words. "Then tomorrow, after you have transformed you will simply curl up and go to sleep."

I have to turn the cork several times to pull it free from its confinement. Then without pause, without giving myself any time to think, I bring the rim to my lips and force it down my throat in one long swallow. "That is disgusting." I say handing him back the drained flagon and pushing down the bile rising from the pit of my stomach. Holding my fist against my mouth and fighting a strong gag reflex, I look over the potions master for any show of amusement at my discomfort. I'm surprised not to find any. Instead I see quiet concern shining in his eyes. The emotion does not reach his facial features but is evident in his body language as he learns forward in his seat to assess my reaction to the medication. After a few moments I compose myself and wish for nothing more than to be able to leave his presence and wash the vile taste from my mouth. "Was there anything else professor?"

"If you are to vomit at all before tomorrow night, you must come and see me immediately." There is no way in all the trials of Hercules that I am vomiting, if it means having to take the concoction again. "I will be in my office tomorrow. Come to see me at least an hour before sunset and we will make the final preparations."

"Yes sir." I say pulling my bag from the floor and hanging it over my shoulder, anxious to leave the classroom. I respectfully give him a few moments pause to comment further, when nothing is forthcoming I quickly say. "Thank you sir." And turn to leave. Taking the stone steps two at a time in my haste to remove myself from this place.

His voice, echoing around the empty room halts my steps for only a moment. "Miss Desay. If you are in need of me I will be in my office."

"Yes sir." I say with esteem. Having no intention of taking him up on such an offer. His presence without supervision for only a few minutes has my skin crawling. I am no hurry to place myself in such a position of my own free will.

The door closes slowly behind me and I take a detour from my normal route into the Great Hall, ducking into the rest room to rinse my mouth. My eyes rest momentarily on the bar of soap laying on the porcelain sink and I briefly consider if the taste would be more bearable than the sensation currently settled across my tongue and running down my throat. After deciding that it would be both healthier and simpler to attend the evening meal in the Great Hall I begin to make my way up to the ground floor.

I enter the Great Hall not even glancing over to the Slytherin table and make my way between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables. Already spying two tufts of red hair indicating where Ron and Ginny are dining with their friends.

When Hermione initially brought me over to the Gryffindor table over a week ago, she started a chain reaction, of which should have been obvious, but was inadvertently overlooked by both of us. Many of the Slytherins knew that it would be very hard to incite a reaction with jibs directed at myself. I have lived with backhanded compliments and outright insulting remarks for much of my life from my father’s side of the family. It was at first the reason I threw myself into the study of dark magic as such a young age and to this day such remarks slide off my back without leaving a scratch. However the moment her hand pressed against mine that day many of them realized they had another, much more effective, approach to prod at my temper.

The next weekday meal I sat at my house table for a grand total of six minutes. Within that time I was pulled to my feet by my own rage, my wand griped tightly in my fingers, wondering how many of those around me I could hex or curse before someone had the power and the courage to put me down. The answer was none. Hermione appeared to materialize next to me. Placing her small hand over mine to still it’s shaking and gently coaxed my wand out of my iron grip.

From that day to this I have taken every meal of which I have been in attendance with these four. As I approach the table I find a smile on my lips forming unconsciously. The argument, which reaches my ears from the two boys on the other side of the long table already appearing to be humorous in it’s content.

"Oh come on Harry, you've got to admit it is possible." Ron says a fork full of mash potatoes held forgotten in his hand, mere inches from his mouth.

Quietly as not to draw any attention from the disagreement I take my seat next to Hermione. She is silently shaking her head back and forth with an amused smile pulled across her lips.

Harry for his part pulls a face around his own mouthful of food, gesturing with his hands before he gives himself time to swallow. "No! No chance mate." Harry continues in his rant, his voice rising with each and every syllable uttered. "It's all about mind over matter. I don't care how strong you are. If you’re fighting against something smarter you're going down."

Ron's fork lands on his plate with a clatter and he begins to use his hands to exaggerate his words in a way that I am beginning to associate with him. "Forget wise words and clever plans. I'm talking about something primal, unstoppable. No amount of smarts is getting past that."

"Nothing and I mean nothing, is unstoppable. Furthermore you can't forget wise words and clever plans, if you have them you're gonna use them" Harry rebuttals.

I find myself looking from first Hermione to Ginny and back again for some indication as to what is going on. It is commonplace for the two boys to disagree but I have not seen them so drawn into the discussion before.

Receiving no answer from anyone at the table I resolve myself to ignore both of them and reach for a helping of the sizzling pork, piling it onto my plate finding myself with no appetite for anything else.

"You're forgetting the significant weight advantage." I hear Ron exclaim.

"No, no I'm not." Harry is quick to jump to his own defence. "In an all-out charge I agree with you, but if something is small and nimble it just gets out of the way of the larger opponent. So you just end up tiring him out. Then bam, he's all yours."

"See sense Harry..." Ron says, seemingly running out of steam under Harry's logic. He then throws his hand up in the air in exasperation. "This is getting us nowhere." He turns his gaze over the tabletop "Hermi..." I watch as something passes over his face and he thinks twice at asking my girlfriend for any sort of back up. Just as quickly he turns to me. "Jamie, what do you think?"

I am so taken aback by the question that I drop my fork to the plate as if burned. "Pardon?" He very rarely acknowledges my existence at the table, always falling into a heated discussion with Harry or one of his siblings the moments his rear hits the seat.

"Really, what do you think?" He waits for a moment and I just look at him with wide eyes. Somehow he must suddenly realize that I have only been privy to a small portion of the conversation. "If a griffin and a dragon got into a fight who would win?" Whatever I was expecting to hear in no way shape or form had it been that.

"You want my opinion?" I ask and I find myself still mildly surprised when he ecclesiastically nods his head. "But the matter is trivial."

Almost immediately his face flushes a bright red. "No, no it's not. It's important."

I sigh at this, wondering how I got roped into this argument. Hermione provides no help, choosing instead to hide her giggles behind her hand at my discomfort. Even Harry is leaning across the table, eagerly awaiting my response. Previously I would simply agree with whomever I had a better relationship with. Or even whoever would be able to help in gathering connections, or I could see that my influence over would be useful in some way. However in this instance I do not have this option. Both are equity on very friendly bases with the woman sitting beside me and neither have anything that I could wish to gain from them. So I try my hardest to try and avoid directly answering. "A dragon and a griffin would never meet. Both are indigenous to two different areas of the world."

"Yeah I know that." Ron says, leaning over his half eaten meal. "But what if they did?"

He's not going to drop this is he? "Under what circumstances?"

"Does it matter?" The red headed boy asks, clearly becoming frustrated with my avoidance.

"Yes. Defiantly. In an open fields or even deserts for instance the dragon would have a distinct advantage, whereas in an inner-city or mountain range the griffin would hold the higher ground."

Ron takes a breath, pointing an accusing finger in my direction; he makes a move to speak then thinks better of it. His mouth starts to open and close uselessly, closely resembling a mermaid out of water. I'm on the verge of asking if he feels well before his gaze snaps to Hermione. "Is she always this difficult?"

I draw breath to show my displeasure at such a question but I am cut short with a firm, "Yes." at my side and I turn to stare, mouth open in shock, in her direction. She is merely grinning from ear to ear at me.

Somehow I manage to close my mouth with an audible snap and turn back to my evening meal. Taking up my fork and mumbling into it "I just like to be thorough." Laughter bubbles up all around me and I feel my ears start to burn with embarrassment.

Her hand lands heavily on my shoulder and a quick glance shows me she is still smiling. "We're just teasing you Sweetheart." I let the term of endearment slide without comment, wondering if this is the first time she had uttered one or just simply the first time I had noticed it.

Ron coughs to show how uncomfortable he is and lowers his gaze to his plate. He still hasn't really gotten used to Hermione and I being in a relationship.

The whole subject is quickly dropped with no concrete conclusion to the immaterial discussion and a heavy silence falls over us for a few moments before Harry, still with his eyes carefully directed to the table top and pushing his food around his plate, decides to speak. "So, Jamie." I look over and give him my full attention; his show of indifference is an obvious ploy, interesting me immediately. "Are you still interested in teaching us wordless magic?"

I let out a snort of laughter. So we're back to this again. "I'm a woman of my word." It is easy to lie so convincingly when you have been doing it all of your life, however on this occasion I do have every intention of teaching these three all that I can to aid them in their fight. "You name the time and place I'll be there."

"How about after dinner?"

My eyebrows rise at his request. It would have been considerate to give me a little more notice but all I will need is my wand and my wits, both of which I have with me. "If that's what you want." I take a moment to glance up to the staff table and remind myself that travelling around the castle in groups any larger than three is strictly prohibited, thanks to our pompous High Inquisitor. "Where shall we meet?"

"No." Hermione hisses across the table and I have to wonder at such an adverse reaction. "You can't just spring this on her."

With those few words I am immediately on the defensive. "Spring what on me?" Her hand reaches for mine under the table and gives it a tight squeeze, her eyes never once leaving Harry's.

"I didn't really intend to." Harry says. "I just wanted to get started right away. There wasn't really any good time to discuss it."

"Discuss what?" I ask, trying to remain calm.

He gives me a lingering look and a long sigh, before glancing over each shoulder in a very suspicious manor. "We can't really talk about it here but there are a few more who want to learn." He pauses a moment then leans across the table. "I'm sorry but I did ask if you would teach others."

Mimicking his posture I try and fail to keep the irate tone from my voice. "How many others? Exactly."

His hand travels to his unkempt hair and scratches his scalp as he tries not to meet my eyes. "I don't know. A few."

Instinctively knowing I won’t get a straight answer out of the boy so I turn to Hermione at my side with a questioning look. "Well?"

I have no problems with imparting my knowledge to even a very large group, especially if it would help to keep Hermione safe through the coming years. My problem is with Umbridge appearing to find some sort of decree to pass on a daily basis whatever they are doing must be against the rules. This would not be a problem if it were not for my condition. I would have no problems with causing the woman as much discomfort as possible, without fears at getting caught in the act. However my disorder does not only lower my status significantly in the eyes of many around me, it also strips me of some fundamental rights. If anyone else within these walls were to be caught breaking the many new rules forced upon us they would face detention or at the very worst expulsion. I have much more to fear as Umbridge could legally take me into custody for even the most minor infringement. Even if I were not convicted it would take many moons to convince any court to agree to a fair trial, especially without the aid of most of my family.

An uncomfortable look spreads across her features and she squirms under my unyielding gaze. "I don't know an exact figure." Her tongue runs out to wet her lips and she sighs. "Okay, we can postpone this until we have had a chance to talk."

"I'm not going to like this am I?"

"Probably not."

I sigh and look at each of the four friends one by one. All of them have the decency to look sheepish about the matter. "No. Let’s just get this over with."

The grin is back on Harry's face in full force. "Good. We'd better... Urm. Head up." He rubs his hands together a few times before turning to his red headed friend. "Ron?" He pulls Ron to his feet and tilts his head towards Ginny, then purposely strides out of the great hall. Leaving Hermione behind to lead me to the mysterious meeting place.

After a long pause between us she begins to hesitantly apologize. "I'm sorry about all of this. I didn't realize he was going to bring this up today."

"What exactly is going on?" I ask, not caring for apologies at this time. Just wanting some answers to explain their suspicious behaviour.

She squeezes my hand still held within her grasp a final time before drawing away. Reaching into her pocket and doing her best to avoid my eyes. "Can we talk about this later?" I give her an unscrupulous look, remembering our conversation just a few short days ago, where she told me that I was evasive in most conversations. She takes a single gold coin from her robes and rests it against the tabletop, taking in my facial features and sighing. "I promise. We'll talk about this but not here."

I nod once and draw my gaze away from her, pushing my half empty plate away having suddenly lost my appetite. With her unable to decide on a topic that may appease me and me with no wish for conversation we both sit in silence. Watching others leave the Great Hall, slowly filing out to presumably attend to their nightly rituals before sleep. We must sit for almost an hour before Hermione lifts the small gold galleon from its resting place and running her thumb over its surface. "Time to go." She says, standing from her seat. "Come on."

 


	14. Chapter 14: Dumbledore's Army

** Chapter 14  **

I stand without a word and follow her out of the hall, carefully keeping half a step behind her so as not to alert her to the action and so she cannot see the rapid shift in my mood, which up until this point had been borderline happy, quickly depleting into mild anger. I have no wish for her to see these reactions in me. Logically I know that she is not the person I should be directing the emotion towards. Yet I cannot stop the tightening in my chest and the muscles in my jaw slowly grinding my teeth into nothing but chalk.

We climb up several flights of stairs levelling out on the seventh floor. Only the hollow sounds of our footsteps for company. Her eyes trial over to me time and time again, she however remains silent, leading me down the narrow hallways to her secret meeting place.

She pulls me to a halt at what appears to be a seamless piece of wall and I look up and down the corridor in confusion. Wondering if they would truly be so bold as defy Umbridge's many decrees in such plain sight.

When I turn back to her she is busy pacing, her arm circling her waist and her chin resting in her other hand deep in thought. The behaviour is unorthodox to be sure, though I partake in the habit on a regular basis, especially recently, I have never seen the woman pace before. It doesn’t take long for the reason for her odd actions to become apparent.

It takes few seconds for me reassure myself of my own sanity and to truly believe what I am seeing. A door, a large arched oak door, materializing in from of me, though I am certain I saw no trace of it only moments ago.

Hermione only shrugs at the shocked look on my face and pushes against the large door and steps beneath the threshold. Impossible voices filter through from behind the impossible doorway, my curiosity and the almost impatient look on Hermione's face push my feet forward and I pass from the hallway into the room, which by all rights should not even exist, and my chest suddenly feels very tight with nerves.

Thirty or so students as one cease all movement to look in my direction and I hear the door close behind me. This is a much larger group than I had anticipated and all of them stare heavily at me, some show sneers of discontent, others with open curiosity.

I take a hesitant step backwards and rest my fingertips against my wand in my back pocket. Not letting my muscles relax even as Hermione's hand closes around my arm to stop any threatening movement. “It's alright Jamie.” She whispers, uttering the first words since we left the Great Hall. “No one is going to hurt you.”

Her words do nothing to calm my frayed nerves and slowly the sea of eyes all resting on my skin part to allow Harry to pass though unhindered, a genuine smile pulled across his face. “Jamie.” He stretches out his arms and indicates the room. “How do you like it?”

If someone doesn’t start explaining this whole thing really soon I have a feeling I will not be able to hide my new violent tenancies. “What is going on?”

He totally ignores my question and goes to pull a piece of parchment from the wall and makes his way over to me. “I need to you sign something.”

“Not on your life.” I take a step back from him and Hermione's fingers tighten on my limb, giving me the distinct sense of being surrounded. Wrenching my arm free I fix the black haired boy with my stare, pulling my wand from my pocket and letting it tap threateningly against my thigh as a precaution. “I'm not signing anything.”

He sighs as if he had expected such a reaction from me. “It's nothing sinister. Look.” He holds it up for me to see then turns it so I can see the back, wisely choosing not to advance on me further. “I've signed it, Hermione's signed it.”

“That’s not enough for me.” My teeth grit in annoyance, how can he not see it? How can none of them see what kind of position they have already put me into? “You want me to put my name down on something you are conducting in secret. What if you’re caught?”

“We wont be.” The conviction in his voice is enough for me to bark my laughter. “What?” Now he has the audacity to sound offended.

He truly thinks that this would be enough to convince me. I raise my wand to shoulder level and more than a few of the people around me draw an anxious breath in response. Harry to his credit doesn’t even flinch and I speak my spell loud and clear, so others might know that it is in no way intended to harm him. “Turpis.” The parchment glows a pail green and all of my suspicions are confirmed. “The damned thing is jinxed. No way in Tartarus, am I signing that.” Murmurs travel around the room at this revelation.

“I would have told you that.” He walks past me and flattens the slightly curled paper on the desk at the head of the room. “It's just so you don't tell Umbridge about all of this.”

I answer instantly. “Tell Umbridge? So she may accuse me of being part of an unauthorized organization?” Feeling very stuck between a rock and a hard place I eye the offending parchment with contempt.

An insistent tugging on my arm pulls my attention down towards Hermione and she speaks to me in a hushed whisper. “I jinxed that parchment. It causes you to break out in boils if you break the contract, nothing more. Secrecy is paramount and I know you can keep a secret.” Her small jest does dampen my initial anger but does not make me waver in my decision to remain off such an incriminating list. “Please?”

“You’re going to have to give me more than that.” I say just as quietly.

She shakes her head with her lips into a thin line. “Not until you sign.” She watches as my jaw tightens in response, I step forward with the full intention of leaving the room, but her palm against my breastplate stops me and her quiet plea makes my resolve falter. “Please, don’t leave us defenceless.”

The look on her face makes me waver but only ever so slightly. I have to keep her safe but first and foremost I need to need to protect my own well being. Now I have been unceremoniously dumped into a situation where I must choose between the two. Just by knowing about this - presumably - little rebellion is enough for someone like Umbridge to condemn me and by bringing me here they have already placed me in the firing line. It is irrelevant if that was their intention.

My eyes cast over the small crowd, all of them looking in my direction. Some waiting for me to snap and lose my temper, others for me to relent to Harry Potter’s will. I have little intention of doing either with so little information at my disposal. “I refuse to have this conversation with an audience.”

My expectant gaze meets the troubled green eyes of the boy of lived and I watch him make an agonising decision. His eyes narrow in my direction and I know before he even opens his mouth that he is still having trouble with it. “You’re willing to talk about this.” The parchment in his grasp flies with his gesture and rustles with the moment.

My initial response would have been a simple ‘No.’ There is no way I can put my name to paper, or leave behind any concrete evidence that might link me to this little group. If such a thing were to fall into the wrong hands I don’t even want to try and predict the consequences. “I’m willing to discuss the slim possibility of that.”

He shakes his head in frustration. “If this was just about me. I’d take you at your word.”

My eyes narrow in his direction. “Just like that?”

“I trust Hermione’s judgement in people.” He says this so easily, how can I possibly explain to him my true nature that I hide from the world. Even from myself, in a futile effort to become something better than a pawn, born and bread to stand at the side of his archenemy. “But them.” He points in the direction of the crowd still remaining quite, watching the events transpire. “You’ve got to give them something in faith.”

He’s right. I’ve seen every member’s face and without my signature upon that parchment nothing is stopping me from marching my way down to Umbridge’s office. Putting a name to every single one of them. Apart from the fact that I am almost certain she would name me as a co-conspirator that had simply gotten cold feet. Not something I wish to divulge, just encase I have any unknown enemies in this room, something that, at this time is a distinct possibility.

Closing my eyes I run my fingers across my forehead in thought, while simultaneously trying to push down the impending headache. Trying to come up with some way to appease those around me, while shrouding myself from all of this. At the presence of an idea my eyes snap open. “I wont give you a name. I can’t, I’m sorry.” My eyes then turn to Hermione, being the only person in attendance with the knowledge to answer my further queries. “I can however, give you a mark. Is that enough?”

She nods slowly, puzzling out the question and I can see her running through the wording she used for the hex on the parchment. “It would be enough to make it binding. Yes.”

“A mark?” Harry asks somewhat confused by this development.

Hermione steps forward, no longer having to physically place herself between myself and the doorway, to halt my departure. “A letter or even a symbol. If written by Jamie’s hand that would be enough.”

“That’s hardly fair.” A voice pipes up from somewhere in the crowd. A tall spotted boy takes centre strange and doesn’t look all too happy to be there. “We’ve all signed it.”

What is that boys name? I recognise him but only barely. “If you don’t like it you are welcome to share in my next draft of Wolf’s Bane.” I don’t relish the idea of drawing attention to my illness but it is a very important factor and it the only reason I will not be a named party in of any of this. “I assure you, it’s disgusting.”

The boy I cannot for the life of me put a name to lifts his lip at the suggestion, in a clear indication that becoming like me is not an idea he enjoys. After that he falls silent of the matter, dropping his gaze to the floor and by the looks of his movement, shuffling his feet in a feeble attempt to direct everyone’s attention elsewhere.

“He is right though.” Harry says, not looking comfortable with admitting it. Almost looking at a loss for what he should do next. “Maybe we could take a vote?”

I lift my lip in a smirk. What a very fair way for him to end the dispute. “How I do love democracy.” I am careful to keep my voice even, but Hermione’s foot pressing over my toes is a clear indication that she has sensed my sarcasm.

Harry however is completely oblivious. “Good.” He says with a smile, turning to the others. “Quick show of hands. All in favour of this… mark, whatever it may be.”

To my complete surprise many of the hands in the room go into the air, including Harry’s and Ginny’s. Looks like a may have to be part of this after all. I admit it would have been nice to have had a solid reason to turn my back on all of this an simply tutor Hermione and the other three in private.

“The ayes have it.” Harry says with a smile and after resting down his parchment holds out a quill for me to take.

After letting a small growl rumble through my chest I turn to the see of faces still looking expectantly at the three of us. If I am going to feel the High Inquisitor’s full wrath when this all comes tumbling down around their ears, I might as well have bloody well done something to deserve it. Before I can rethink it though and before I can have any time to talk myself out of it, I take the quill from his hand and quickly make my mark, after striking it through to finish I throw the feather down onto the desk and turn towards him expectantly.

He takes the page and blows on the ink, once he is sure that is it dry he rolls it up then quickly claps a hand to my shoulder. “Welcome to Dumbledore's army.”

“Well that's just peachy.” I say trying and failing to keep the irritated tone from my voice. Shrugging the contact from my shoulder and still concerned that I haven’t received any answers. “Now what in the name of all the Gods is Dumbledore's Army?”

I watch as Harry begins to search his mind for an appropriate way to answer and I can feel my patience beginning to wear thin.

It is Ginny that answers my question. “Harry is teaching us Defence Against the Dark Arts.” She ignores the few glares sent her way after her declaration.

“I try.” Harry says, showing no small amount of embarrassment. He clears his throat and levels his gaze at me. “So come on. What's the secret to wordless magic?” He says trying to step away from the limelight that follows wherever he goes.

I let my eyes slide closed and take a deep breath. Planning an escape route to the door, should anyone react adversely to my statement. After clenching my jaw I repeat my father's mantra for all to hear. “Persistence, perseverance, and patience.”

I open my eyes just as Harry's expression drops into despair. “That's it?” Discontent murmurs travel around the room. “Just practice?”

“I said you wouldn't like it.” I state turning to lean heavily along the tabletop. Pulling my arms up to cross over my chest, my wand still firmly held in my grasp and pointed safely towards the floor. The thick silence that falls over the group is deafening in its intensity. As if they all truly believed that I could simply hand them this skill on a silver platter.

A single voice raises above all others from the back of the room. “I said this was a waste of time.” Shouts of protests can be heard as one boy pushes his way to the fount of the group. “I told you.” He directs his angry tone towards Harry, who in turn appears to be trying to make himself as small as possible. “But you wouldn't listen. No point putting your trust in a...” His comment stops short as he rounds his gaze on me, a sneer pulling at his upper lip and I begin to feel rage curling in my chest. This close to a full moon I would think it unwise to test my patience in such a way.

Without thought I feel a growl rumbling along my throat to lace dangerously through my words. “Trust a what?”

Hermione begins to step closer to me, presumably to restrain me if necessary. Though I highly doubt that if it came to such an entanglement she would walk away unscathed.

The look of contempt does not leave his face as his back straightens, drawing him to his full height. He stands at least two inches shorter than me and the sight does not give him the intimidating air that I am certain he was trying to establish. “Should never trust a Slytherin.”

He says this with so much malice and passion that I cannot help but take him seriously. Of all the things he could have picked fault with, the colour of my tie was not something I had even considered as to cause such an adverse reaction. My rage melts instantly. Replaced by mild amusement.

“I'm a half-breed.” I say, trying to distance myself from the word even as it spills from my lips. “Yet it is my house that offends you.”

Quickly he shrugs. “I've met an honest werewolf. Never met an honest Slytherin.”

The smile that pulls across my face and the snort of laughter are completely irrepressible and involuntary. “Neither have I.” I find it strange that I am almost enjoying his negative attitude towards me. He may dislike me but he disfavours me because of who I am. Not because of what I am. I had almost forgotten the difference. In an instant I decide that I have to be part of this group. If only to feel a little more human.

Resting my wand down onto the tabletop I bring my hands to my throat. Marginally amused when several of this gathered force tense and gasp at the sudden movement. Without ceremony I loosen my tie and pull it free, stuffing it in my pocket without care for its condition. “Does this make you feel better?”

His feet scuff along the stone floor and the crease along his forehead tells me he had not expected such an action. Without a satisfactory retort the ridged stiffness of his back begins to lessen. “It's a start. I suppose.” Not wanting me to keep the upper hand in the confrontation he feels the need to continue. “I still don't think you can teach me anything.”

“What's your name?” I ask, ignoring his boast.

“Michael Corner.” He answers, casting a glance in Ginny's direction, only to be met with a roll of her eyes.

I observe the interaction but do not draw attention to it, filing it away in my mind to ask either Ginny or Hermione about it at a later date. “Would you care to duel with me Michael Corner?” Tactically I should not even entertain the idea of a duel with someone I have only just met. Not until I have had the opportunity to observe their style and skills. This evening however, I have a deep burning desire to prove myself to this boy. All of my training is screaming at me not to let him bait me into a fight but on this rare occasion, instinct wins over education and I find myself almost daring him to accept my challenge.

Indecision crosses his face. I can almost see the thought processes running through the cogs in his head. He doesn’t hesitate for long as soon as his peers begin to speak in hushed whispers amongst themselves. “Alright. You’re on.”

A ripple of some unknown and pleasant emotion slithers across my shoulders and the muscles twitch under the sensation. “Excellent.” I throw my robe from off my back; draping it over the table I had been leaning against and after taking my wand between my teeth I unbutton the cuffs of my shirt, methodically rolling up the sleeves.

After I have prepared myself I grasp my wand loosely between my fingers and take a customary bow. Pausing to wait for him to make the first strike so I am able to better gauge his ability, it would not do to show all that I am capable of if it were not necessary. Especially when I am so determined to best him in this duel.

He takes his queue, as expected and with a long swooping motion of his wand effectively broadcasting his intentions to me in the process he casts his spell. “Expelliarmus!”

With such a long gesture with his wand, he not only indicates his intended spell but also the vague area he is targeting. Making a snap decision I chose to simply pull one foot back behind the other pulling my body sideways and let the spell pass by me harmlessly. The spell itself was strong, too strong in fact to simply disarm me.

The long, drawn out motion of his wand forces him to recover before beginning a new spell, leaving me with sufficient opening to assess the situation. His stance unlike mine is wide, designed to be imposing, also providing a much bigger target to be hit. I wait patiently for him to correct his posture. His movements indicating another disarming spell and now lacking the manoeuvrability to reduce his target it will be much more difficult to dodge the spell, already I decide to deflect this oncoming charm and plant my feet to steady myself.

I see the placement of his charm just as it begins to leave his lips, my wrist jerks and wordlessly I produce an enchantment at the same instant he does, the two spells clash in the space between us and fizzle into nothing. The movement of my wand naturally follows from one spell choice to the next and I conjure the red jet of light for the stunning charm that sends him flying backwards through the air.

He lands loudly on the floor, grunting his displeasure at being knocked off his feet. One younger boy leaves the group to help him to his feet.

Harry is swiftly at my side, looking first to me then at the fallen boy across the room and back again. “How did you do that?”

Lowering my wand and letting my focus drain away now that the contest is complete but keeping my eyes on my opponent I answer. “Stunning charm.”

“I know that.” He says. “How did you do it so fast?”

Not being totally certain how to explain the movement after so many years of endless practice, it is as natural as breathing; I go for the easy answer. “Position.” Michael draws himself to his feet waving off the helping hand of his classmate and respectfully nods his head in my direction.

“Alright.” Harry says slowly drawing my attention back around to him. “You're going to elaborate on that and I’m going to ban you from using any words beginning with 'P'.”

The small smile on his face gives me the distinct feeling that the humour he is trying to use is completely lost on me. “The...” I grit my teeth, biting back the word 'placement' as I do so, rethinking the wording of my explanation. “Wand movements are important. One spell should flow into another in rapid succession.”

His eyes search mine for a few long moments. Then he says, “Teach me.”

\---~~~000~~~---

After two long, gruelling hours trying to describe the methods used to fire spells in quick succession to a group of thirty Harry calls an end to the meeting. Though only after Hermione pointed out the tired looks on most of the younger students faces. He has a passion for leaning I had not expected after observing him through the lessons we take together. Although I must remember that boys will be boys. They will always be interested in fighting.

Many of the junior students swiftly left to return to their respective dormitories for some well-deserved rest. Very few pupils remained, leaving me little opportunity to slip away undetected.

An uncomfortable feeling of unrest is beginning to settle over my chest. Something I immediately associate to the days directly preceding the last full moon and I would rather not be in the company of so many strangers under its influence.

So after exchanging a few quiet words with Hermione and declining her offer to once again spend the night in her bed I leave the strange room. Taking time to watch the large doorway melt into the wall behind me before turning and steadily making my way down to the ground floor and away from prying eyes.

After reaching my room relatively unhindered and once again reminding myself to fix the damaged door to my chamber, I take a seat at the small old writing desk. Rejecting the idea of sleep the moment it enters my mind. All I wish to do in this moment is pace, though I do not have the space to do so.

Beginning to regret declining the offer to stay another night in Hermione's quarters, knowing now that I would have enough space to attempt to walk off my frustrations; however at the time I could not bring myself to subject her to my unease. Now all I wish is for her to help quench it. There is insufficient time to make it to the safety of the north tower before I could be caught wandering the castle after hours and I am unwilling to test the limits of Umbridge's patience to close to her discovery of my condition.

Without the area to freely move around I feel my muscles slowly beginning to bunch under my skin in sheer frustration as images race through my mind and nerves begin to clamber up my throat at just the thought of the fate that awaits me tomorrow night.

Admittedly the only transformation I have endured thus far had hazed in my memory over the last weeks. Leaving behind only the memory of the pain and my muscles tensing to such a degree that my limbs became immobile. On many levels I am glad of that fact, not wishing to relive in detail, one of the most agonizing and confusing moments of my life, each night when I close my eyes. However right at this moment what causes my nervous state is not knowing. Not remembering the intricate details so I am able adequately to prepare myself for them.

I lean back heavily the in rickety wooden chair, forcing myself to ignore its worrying creak and the shifting wood of the backrest with the movement. Already knowing that I am thinking myself in circles, that are getting me nowhere. It will not do to dwell on tomorrow night. The whole event is locked deep within my very skin and there is no escaping it.

Casting my eyes over the piles of books littering my desk I swiftly decide that an appropriate distraction will be to clear them away, having had the intention to tidy the small space for days. I set to work at my mundane task, taking the time to read the spines of the books in my collection. I only stop when I come across the small leather bound pages gifted to me by the potions master only two weeks ago.

On that day I had simply thrown it among the other books in the tiny room and forgot about its existence. I had never been one to keep a journal; the thought of my personal musings filling the pages of a worthless book for any literate person to intrude upon unsettled me to no small extent.

I think about simply discarding it into the bottom of my trunk to once again be forgotten about it but something stops me. The spark of a thought igniting in my mind. I distinctly remember Snape telling me that the simple action of putting my thoughts down on paper might alleviate the tension my current situation provokes. Knowing that I would give almost anything in this moment for a small degree of calm my eyes stay transfixed on the supple brown leather as if it could hold the answer to my current problems.

My nimble fingers pull against the clasp holding the book shut and slowly I leaf through the blank pages, seriously considering filling them with my most personal thoughts. I had always been weary of another finding and using a journal against me. Though right here and now I cannot see any reason as to why anyone would bother. Those that I would fear rebuttal from no longer hold any interest for me and do not have access to any part of my life. Those that would have access to the pages have never given me cause to believe that they would use any information gathered against me. So I see little reason to resist the temptation rising from the pit of my belly to gather a bottle of ink and a quill.

Finally I come to the starting page and place the open book on my desk, pushing against the spine lightly so its own weight may hold it open. My fingertips glide over the rough parchment in indecision, now more fearful of what I may learn of myself then what others will think if they were to ever read it.

I only realize that I have made the decision when I pull the cork from a new ink bottle and rest it against the ageing wood, my quill landing in the liquid a moment later.

Once the nib is filled with ink I bring it back to the blank pages and find myself at a loss of where to begin. When did all of this start? It certainly did not start on that day a month ago in the castle dungeons, that was merely the moment when I recognized the disease I now carry.

So many events lead up to my excursion to the Forbidden Forest that I barely contemplate beginning there.

After a few moments I grit my teeth, pinpointing the exact moment, the priciest action that started the chain of events that have drastically changed the direction of my life.

With my mind made up my quill touches the parchment and I begin to pour all of the emotions I had not realized I had been hiding even from myself onto the waiting pages.

_ 'Dragging my feet through the tall uncut, dew covered grass allowing my jeans to drag and gather moisture. Uncaring as my ankles feel the cold liquid gather along, the material becoming heavy and clinging to my shins, I make my way along the field...'  _

 


	15. Chapter 15: Presence of the Night

** Chapter 15  **

With my heart hammering so hard in my chest, that I genuinely fear it bursting through my breastplate. My knees shaking to such a degree that they threaten to collapse from beneath me and my hand griping the rail so tightly my knuckles are beginning to turn white, I descend the tight spiral staircase into the very bowls of the castle. Casting one last longing glance out of the ground floor window at the rapidly retreating sunlight, I continue my descent into the underground.

The moment both of my feet touch the stone floor of the dungeon my insides begin to squirm in protest. Unsure if that is the effect of the impeding full moon or the painful objection from the beast residing within me at its being contained throughout the night.

Headless of my churning stomach and ignoring the almost painful desire to be in the open air I continue on, trying to hear my heavy footfall over the rush of blood in my ears. All too soon I arrive at the door to the potion master's office. In a gesture of nerves I scrub a sweaty palm across my mouth and jaw, trying to ignore the shaking in my upper limbs.

Tentatively I reach out to knock, only to jump backwards a full foot when it is opened from the inside. Having the presence of mind to clamp my teeth closed so as not to utter a sound to show my terror.

I turn my gaze to Professor Snape, a mild rage burning against the back of my eyes at his exploit. I am anxious enough this evening without such actions to press against already frayed nerves. “You are late.” He says in a highly disapproving tone.

I nod in his direction, knowing that my tardiness is not acceptable. Though I could no more pull myself away from the comfort of Hermione's hand in mine, than I could hold his eyes in this moment. Somehow her presence today had been a calming influence over my entire being. I knew she had kept track of the cycle of the moon; the look of concern upon her face this morning was testament to that. As if she could see into my thoughts she has spent the day religiously avoiding the topic of my impending transformation. Talking with her friends and accepting my stoic presence for much of the day. The random chatter between the three of them has kept my mind busy and the intense nerves, that I am feeling at this moment, at bay and I had been loath to remove myself from the soothing influence.

He only raises an eyebrow at my silence but, on this occasion, does not push the matter. Instead he steps out of his office, closing the door behind him. To this day I have yet to see the inside of those walls, as have most of the students of this school, past and present, the potions master appearing to prefer to converse with others in his classroom rather than his private rooms. “Follow me.” His order is short and concise, something for which I am grateful. Unwilling to utter a word for fear that my shaking limbs might transcend to my voice.

I follow a full two steps behind Snape. Keeping my eyes trained on his billowing cloak, as he leads me down two more flights of stairs and down into the deserted catacombs deep underground. The tightness in my chest making itself known to a higher degree with each step I take. As if the wolf inside me does not take kindly to such an enclosed space so far removed from the outside world. Though if this is the thoughts of the creature inside of me or my own fear of what I know is to come I am unsure.

He keeps his quick, intimidating pace as he winds down the corridors to parts of the castle I have never before visited, knowing that alone I would be lost within this labyrinth of stone.

Abruptly he pulls to a stop outside of a cast iron door. A small square cut out at eye level, metal bars passing along it vertically adorn its surface. It is more than a little imposing and I feel myself gulp back the burning sense of fear as it rises up my throat. Snape takes a ring of keys from his pocket searching through them one by one before he finds the one he is looking for and pushing it into the lock. “You will be spending the night in here...” the door creaks and scrapes along the floor as it opens, “until we can find you something a little more permanent.”

At his indication I step beneath the threshold into the room, almost wondering if the scene were designed to frighten me. The walls are covered with a thin layer of moss and the smell of damp hangs heavy in the air. Pushing against my senses and giving me the distinct feeling of a caged animal.

To my right there are more bars cornering off a large portion of the surprisingly large room. One half of the bars have been covered in a thick dark blanket, a pile of blankets behind it and the doorway stands ajar, waiting for me to enter.

Trying to be at least a little objective I can see no reason as to why I could not use this room each month. It is highly unlikely I will interrupt anyone’s sleep so deep underground. The bars themselves are over an inch in diameter and look sturdy enough to contain me even in my primal form. Then there is the second door made of solid steel to keep me caged. “This isn't permanent?”

He takes a glance around the room and sighs in what I would almost swear was regret. “This is hardly ideal. The High Inquisitor has taken a personal interest in your case and has overseen many of these preparations personally.”

The mere mention of Umbridge has my muscles bunching along my shoulder blades and I have to fight the growl I can feel fighting to be free in my chest. “If she had her way I would be down here all the time.”

My jest may have been in bad taste but I did not expect his face to darken so at my words. “The suggestion has been made.” He looks down his long crocked nose at me, his black eyes capturing my attention in an instant. “It would be wise not to tempt such a woman.”

Solemnly I nod in agreement yet keep my teeth tightly locked behind pursed lips. Not wishing my true opinions of the woman to be known by one of her colleagues.

Again he accepts my persistent silence with no conflict and reaches under his robes to pull a small vile from within their confines. Handing it to me for my inspection. The vile is a deep purple glass, the line of liquid inside barely reaches a fingers berth from the base. “Is that enough?”

“I would not dare give you a higher dose. The potion is very potent and in the morning I would prefer it if we are able to awaken you.”

I hear myself swallow loudly at his words. It had never even occurred to me how dangerous such a potion could be. “That would be better.” I answer, swirling the sliver of liquid around the base of the coloured glass. More dubious then before at taking the small dose.

He clears his throat appearing uncomfortable, an emotion I have never seen in the potions master before today. He shuffles from one foot to the other before speaking, his eyes carefully trained at a fixed point somewhere above my head. “The night is nearly upon us.” He holds his arm out to gesture the entrance to the caged off section of the room. “If you please.”

I can understand his haste and uncork the vile in my hands. After throwing back the small amount of liquid I hand him back the container, pleasantly surprised at the bland taste.

After casting one more glance over the bars I step into the enclosure, trying not to flinch when the metal hinges groan loudly in protest as the door is closed behind me. Steel scrapes against steel as the lock slides into place, sealing off any escape. The creature inside me feels like it wants to crawl up and out of my throat to howl its displeasure to the heavens. I find myself having to close my eyes tightly against the feeling. “Do you have to be here when it happens?” I ask, already feeling the impending night deep in my chest.

He takes a pause, which feels like a lifetime before he answers. “You wish to do this alone?”

I shoot my gaze over my shoulder and meet his curious eyes with my own. “It's private.” The very idea of this man watching my agony, seeing me when I must be so weak is simply unbearable.

“No. It is not necessary for me to be present for the actual transformation.” Hoping that it remains unseen I sigh in relief. “The blankets are for your modesty and comfort in the morning. I will leave you to prepare.” His black eyes bore into me for several more moments, waiting. After it becomes apparent that I will not be asking him to stay he respectfully bows his head and it in a dramatic flair of black cloak he leaves the room.

I stand stock still, listening to his retreating footsteps until I am happy that he is out of earshot. Pressing my palms against the wall I take several deep breaths in a bid to calm myself then turn to lean my back against the cold stone.

What am I doing? I know I don't want to be alone through this. Knowing what is to come. Knowing the pain that I must go through. Even a stranger’s presence would be preferable to being lift with nothing more than the sounds of my own frantic breaths and screams. Had it been anyone but Severus Snape who had offered I might very well have asked them to stay. However the potions master is the only man in the entire castle with a conceivable connection to my father. Though he shows disinterest in me, such a tale of my suffering would lighten his eyes with childlike glee. A look I would once have killed for to see on his face, now my stomach turns at the mere memory of it.

My muscles as one cramp and push me to my feet. My eyes darting around my enclosure, something inside me sparks, knowing the sunset is upon us. With my body warning me that I have very little time I bring my fingers to my tie and hurriedly pull it free of my neck, dropping it onto the other side of the bars. My breathing becomes jagged as I throw my robes from my shoulders, balling it up to push it through the bars.

My fingers reach up to tug at the buttons of my shirt when it starts. The pain starts in my belly and erupts throughout every cell in my body leaving my skin burning. Its mild compared to what I know is to come but still buckles my knees in its intensity. My knuckles turn white as my hands grip the cold metallic bars to keep me upright. With sheer force of will I pry my fingers lose and continue to unbutton my shirt.

The burning within my skin escalates, I clamp my teeth closed to hold back my screams, just for a few moments more. My entire focus in undressing and promising myself that next time I will not wait so long to do so. Bunching the material of my school shirt it my fist I pull against it, ripping the remaining three buttons from the garment and pull it over my head, falling against the bars from the pain as I push it through.

A scream is ripped from my throat a second later. I reach down to the clasp of my trousers pulling it apart and pushing the garment down my thighs, it pools at my ankles just as the agony forces me to my hands and knees.

With my ever present screams and all of my muscles shaking I fall to my side, taking all of the weight off my limbs. My hands come up to protectively cover my face and I can feel the bones breaking beneath the surface of my skin. Under my palms I can feel them shift and move, stretching the skin to almost breaking point.

My screaming, which was once pounding against my ears, stops as my internal organs begin to change, cutting off the supply of air to my continuous cry.

Darkness licks along the edge of my consciousness and I pray that this ordeal is nearly over.

Starved of air and with every muscle burning in agony I succumb to the darkness that is sure follow.

555555533333337777777

_The burning. It is all around and all consuming. Flames licking and clambering along the kindling, heating up further with each passing moment._

_A blade slides across scared skin, reopening still fresh wounds, blood pools at the opening of flesh and trails along skin dripping from fingertips into a waiting wooden bowl in offering. A feeble offering in the shadow of the piles of gold and coral all around the pool of life's liquid. The only thing this poor and ill being has to give and it is given willingly._

_“Nanauatl.” He responds to the name instantly, bowing low to his superiors. “It is time.”_

_Nanauatl seats himself upon a platform, high above the burning flames. Knowing he must be called upon for one further duty, to seal the fate of all of the lives around him._

_One sits next to him, armour shining in the brilliant light of the fire to show his wealth. At the loud call of “Tecciztecatl” he stands and swaggers to the edge of the platform, letting his eyes roam the expanse of the flames and his skin feel the mighty heat it produces._

_Nanauatl watches unseen from his seat. Watches as the courage of the wealthy and imposing man falters and he steps back. Pulling back from the mighty fire and shaking his head in denial._

_“ Nanauatl” is called and instantly Nanauatl knows. He knows that his path has been chosen. Without complaint and without falter he stands from his humble seat. Steadfastly walking to the platforms edge. He opens his arms wide, embracing his duty and topples into the flames._

55555333333337777777

When I wake I do so with a started gasp and a cry of fright, pushing against the stone floor instinctively. As if trying to physically distance myself from the images conjured in Morpheus' realm.

I thrust myself heavily onto my back, not giving a thought to the layer of debris sticking to my skin. Once my back and shoulders hit the cold stone my hands rush up to my face and down my neck, running over my flesh for any signs of charred skin. Letting myself pull in huge relived gulps of air when I find nothing. Having to repeat a mantra aloud over and over again to convince myself, “Just a dream.” The evidence of my terror laced thickly within my voice.

That was so real. I could feel the immense heat. I could feel it burning my flesh, stripping it from the bone. I could feel the hot air charring and closing my throat as I gasped for every breath. “Just a dream.” I repeat again, very slowly beginning to believe my own words.

I've never dreamed like that before. Never have it stay with me into my waking moments in such a way.

I close my eyes and try to clear my mind of the strange images. Slowly letting my breaths take a more natural rhythm. Only now just realizing my state of undress as I lie upon a floor not a mattress.

I let my eyes slide open to find the room dimly lit by one lone burning torch held high off the ground. Pressing against the floor with the back of my arms and trying desperately not to wince against the unbelievable soreness in my right shoulder, I am able to push myself up into a seated position to survey the room. It only takes my gaze to land on the ceiling to floor iron bars for my foggy memory to clear. Then I frown. Distinctly remembering being on the other side of those bars.

Pulling most of my weight onto my left side to avoid antagonizing my mysterious injury, I push myself up and onto my feet so I am more able to survey my surroundings. This was not something I had expected to wake up to.

Littered around the floor I find scraps of cloth torn to useless pieces. Clothing that by all rights I should have been unable to reach. I do find my robes mostly intact, ripped in places but at the very least still wearable.

Gingerly I pull it up my right arm, every twitch of my shoulder running right along my chest. Every movement pushing my face into a grimace against the pain. I then draw it across my back and up my other arm. Once decent and cradling my right arm across my chest I make my way over to the barred door which hangs wide open. Snape locked that. I remember he did. Why is it open? Upon closer inspection I find the metal lock bent and broken beyond recognition and the half inch thick bars bent outwards.

The constant aching in my shoulder is beginning to make some sort of sense when I hear the metal door to the room unlock and creak open. “Are you decent Miss Desay?”

“Almost.” I answer honestly. Not completely comfortable with his presence right now but I know I have little choice in the matter if I ever want to see the sunlight again.

The door opens fully and the potions master breezes into the room, a folded pile of clothing in his open palm.

“What happened?” I ask, turning my attention to the bent metal bars.

He clears his throat in an uncomfortable gesture and pushes the clothes into my hands, taking a step back, removing himself from my personal space as soon as he is able. “I returned shortly after midnight. You awoke and became restless.”

“Restless?” I say. “That's a bit of an understatement don't you think.”

“Perhaps. However 'restless' is the word I will be using in my report.” He is silent for a moment and I can feel his eyes burning into me. Searching for something, a reaction maybe? With every ounce of will power I possess I force myself to push down my raging emotions, keeping my face neutral. “You should rest. You're excused from all of your lessons today. We can discuss this further at a later date.” His shoulders flex and his whole body is still, giving him a deeply uncomfortable demeanour. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No.” I answer quickly, anxious for him to leave me to my own devices. As I hear the door creaking closed something accrues to me. “Professor. How will I find my way back.”

His quick steps halt but he does not turn around to face me as he speaks. “Follow the torch lights.” Almost instantly he is gone and I am free to release a shaky breath into the dim room. The bundle of clothes falling to the floor and I soon follow. Curling my legs up against my chest and just allowing myself to stare at the twisted steel bars.

After taking the wolf's bane I shouldn't have been able to be so alert in my primal form. I should have just slept. Curled up into a harmless ball of fur and slept the night away. Instead here I am, staring at the evidence of just the opposite. That once a month I am nothing more than a feral beast, capable of such a degree of destruction that I am surprised I remained confined to this room.

Unable to look at it any longer I push the torn robes from my back and proceed to dress myself gingerly, trying not to move my shoulder any more than necessary. I leave the room and as promised the light from the touches along the stonewalls lead me back into the dungeons and finally up onto the deserted hallways of the ground floor.

For a long time I stand in front of my door, gazing at the aged tattered wood, almost working myself up to enter. Yet every time I attempt to turn the handle my stomach churns painfully at the thought of being so alone in such a cramped space. Still restless and unable to face the thought of only my own company. On the third try I give in. Turning on my heel and quickly jogging up to the north wing of the castle.

I whisper the password to Hermione's room and enter as quietly as I am able to find her still asleep. Hoping that she will not see it as an intrusion I lift the covers and slide myself into the bed behind her, pressing my chest against her back and winding my arm over her hip. The movement makes her stir and she turns her head with a sleepily utter. “What?”

I place a kiss against her crown and quietly tell her to “Go back to sleep.”

I feel the bed move as she nods slowly and her fingers interlace with mine over her belly.

It is like this that I am able to push the morning’s events to the back of my mind. At least for now. Letting myself relax and listen to her even breaths.


	16. Chapter 16: Scrooge

## Chapter 16

November gives way to December and eventually, end of term. Many of my fellow students left the school for the holiday, including the golden trio. Plans had been made long before I had come into the picture to return to London and even though I had been invited, the cycle of the moon had prevented me from leaving the castle.

My transformation had been a growing form of discomfort to me, for two months running now Wolf’s Bane has had absolutely no effect on me under the glare of the full moon. Snape is unwilling to up the dose due to the strength of the potion; he still fears that the effect may still pass into my human form, even if it has little effect on the rabid beast inside of me. I do not share his concerns.

In my opinion if the potion has no effect on me at all, then even an extra dose will still have little effect. So a change of tactic is in order and over the past week I have thrown myself into research for brewing potions that may provide some aid, for much of my solitude over the past two weeks. Before the discovery of Wolf’s Bane there were other, possibly useless and potentially more dangerous methods of forcing the wolf into submission.

This is the reason I stand in the entrance hall now. Watching my classmates enter, chattering amongst themselves. With my arms crossed, jaw clenched and eyes scanning each face as they enter, I am paid little attention, save for the sneers sent my way from much of Slytherin house.

“Hey Jamie.” I don’t have to look round to recognize the cheery voice of Ginny Wesley. “Have a good Christmas?” She asks, one of the few unhindered by my ridged back and darting eyes.

“Fine.” I answer vaguely only half listening to the red head, keeping my attention on the passing students.

Instead of leaving, as I would have preferred, she stands at my side. Glancing over to copy my stance she continues the conversation as if I were an active participant. “That good huh?”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes and bite back a venomous remark. I would have much preferred if I have been left alone until my business has concluded. As it stands, for the sake of manners, I must enter into a conversation. Dividing my attention from the mass of students and possibly losing my quarry in the process. “Christmas is just like every other day.” I answer honestly, the yuletide celebration having never been recognized in my house.

“Scrooge.” She answers quickly and I have to turn my gaze towards her to find out if she is insulting me or not. “What?” She asks under a few moments of my scrutiny.

“I don’t understand the reference.” My voice is clipped in a show of irritation but it does little to deter the younger girl.

Her whole face scrunches in confusion. “Ebenezer Scrooge?” At my blank expression she continues to try and clarify. “A Christmas Carol?”

I sigh at her, almost understanding what she is going on about, so turn my gaze back to the crowd. “Christianity is not my religion, so why would I celebrate your holidays?”

“You have to be Christian to get presents?”

“I think you may be missing the point.” I say, spying my prey across the hall and after turning and giving the redhead a hurried “Excuse me.” I begin to weave my way through the crowd of students. Several people try to unsuccessfully gain my attention as I pass them by. I cannot allow myself to miss this opportunity.

Quickly I reach my destination just as Blaise Zabini’s catches sight of me, only for the joyous expression on his face to drop like a stone. He politely smiles to Millicent Bulstrode and removes himself from their conversation so he is free to stand before me. “I just got back. Can we do this later?”

Without pause I let my arms cross over my chest in a defensive posture. “No.” The public setting for this exchange suits me just fine. No one will pay us enough mind to question me about this later and I am unlikely to be attacked when there are so many around to witness it. “Did you get it?” The look that crosses Zabini’s face is enough to convince me that any form of chit chat preceding the inevitable exchange will not be worth the effort. So forgoing all pleasantries I forge ahead.

His lip lifts in a sneer. “It wasn’t easy to get, Half-breed.”

My eye twitches slightly at his words but I do not react further to the obvious bait. “Well?”

His deep brown eyes scan the faces of those around us and then he opens the satchel at his side, reaching in and holding out a small parcel warped in brown paper to me.

I take the small package and pull at the twine to check the contents. Blaise moves from one foot to the other to show his impatience and I fully unwrap my prize, letting a satisfied smile spread across my face when I see five black pellets, no bigger than peas rolling around in my open palm. Blaise clearing his throat pulls me from my observations and I tie the small parcel back up and push it deeply into my pocket. “We’re even now.” He says, trying to take control of the conversation before moving to step around me.

My grip on his upper arm must border on painful because his shoots his gaze in my direction but remains silent. “I say when we’re even.”

He tries to inconspicuously remove himself from my grasp, causing me to tighten my grip on his arm. “Don’t threaten me Desay.”

I lift my eyebrow at him, quietly amused that his fear in this situation prevents him from calling me a ‘Halfbreed’. This is information I file away for later use and I pull him closer to me using my superior height to intimidate him. “I say when we’re even. Or I could start shouting the details of your most recent step-father’s death from the rooftops.”

The fire in his eyes is undeniable and if I did not possess this nugget of information I would cower beneath the furious gaze of this talented wizard. As it stands I am in a position of power over him and intend to use it to the fullest degree.

In Slytherin house there are many rules of etiquette that we live by, which are considered unconventional at best to any that do not participate in it. On our first night at Hogwarts, under the stare of a Secrecy Sensor to make sure no lies are told, we are encouraged to divulge the nastier of secrets to our housemates. This does two things, firstly forces you to build a bond of trust with those around you, so that they know your secrets and you know theirs. If one secret is spilled so are all the others. Secondly, those with the worst horror stories are usually granted a higher degree of respect within the house.

The moment my father expelled me from the family all of the secrets told on that night became null and void. I have very little reason to care if anyone were to run to an Auror and tell them what my father has been up to. If he is taken to Azkaban it will have very little effect upon me. This has left me in this very unique situation where by the members of Slytherin house may very well wish to kill me and then skin me for my hide, which is why I refuse to be in any of their presence when not surrounded by the rest of the student body. However beyond physical pain they are unable to threaten me. All of their secrets are still valid and will cause them genuine suffering, all of which are still locked tightly away in my mind. Giving me leverage over many of them. Even the word of a werewolf can be detrimental to the reputation of a pure blood house.

“What’ll it be Zabini?” I ask, almost daring him to defy me.

His gaze drops from mine to hide his rage. “Fine.” Is all he says, before pulling his limb free from my grasp and moving on his way.

I cannot help but smile at his retreating back, making a mental note to use someone else next time I need to acquire anything from outside of Hogwarts. There are others I can threaten and manipulate; it would be foolish to drive the boy to anything drastic by repeatedly using him to do my dirty work.

“Jamie.” My gaze swivels around once more to look upon the concerned features of Harry Potter and the smile of satisfaction quickly turns to one of pure joy. “How ya been?”

His drops his rucksack to the floor and throws his arms around my shoulders. At the action I feel my breathing stop and my back stiffen from the unusual display of affection. I had slowly started to become accustomed to the abundance of physical contact between this group of friends but after a fortnight of solitude I had started to slip back into my old customs of keeping people out of my personal space. “Fine.” I reply through gritted teeth and his hands land on each of my arms to push me back so he can look at me.

His eyebrows dip behind his glasses as he takes in my appearance, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.” I answer shortly stepping backwards and out of his grip just as I catch sight of the brown bushy hair of Hermione. She runs her hand along my hip so she can position her shoulder under my arm and reaches up on her tiptoes so she can place a chase kiss on my cheek. I am only marginally surprised that her physical contact does not provoke such a strongly adverse response as Harry’s had.

“Hey.” Ron’s loud voice breaks the small mood that has settled over the two of us. “How’s the Big Bad Wolf?”

The big smile on his face stops me from being angry at his comment but I still feel the need to stop such a nickname before it can catch on. “I’m not sure whether or not to be offended by that.”

The look of sincerity that crosses his face is only disrupted by his grin. “Aww, please don’t.” He then lowers his voice to a loud whisper that can be heard by all of us and leans forwards. “Hermione would kill me.”

Her hand is then immediately in my line of sight to backhand him across the shoulder. “Ronald!”

The smile never leaves his face as he begins to rub his injured shoulder. “It’s not my fault it’s true.”

“You three are in remarkably good cheer, considering you’re coming back to school.” I comment looking between them.

Harry shrugs reaching to the floor for his backpack. “It’s Christmas.”

Now I’m more confused than ever. “I was under the impression that was a single day.”

“It is.” Is Hermione’s quiet response as she begins to walk towards the great hall, pulling me along with her. “Ron likes presents; the cheer tends to last a little longer.”

“I see.” I say, not really comprehending. “These Christmas present must be powerful things.”

Ron points a finger at me. “You’re just being a Scrooge.” He says, adopting the voice of a three year old.

That’s it. I’ve had enough of being out of the loop. “What is the Scrooge thing?”

All three friends look at each other for a few moments and we separate to be able to walk along the Gryffindor table on either side, until we find four available seats. Begrudgingly I let Hermione extract herself from our small embrace so she can take a seat. Then slowly lower myself next to her.

Ron is already leaning across the table with rapt attention. “You don’t know who Scrooge is?”

I sigh again. At some point someone will explain this to me. “It’s a Christmas story. Correct?” I ask from my assumptions based on what Ginny said earlier. Ron nods vigorously. “My family does not celebrate Christmas. So I would never have heard the story.”

Ron’s mouth opens so wide that I am surprised not to hear a hollow ‘thunk’ as it hits off the tabletop. “What?” He finally manages to ask.

“You’re not a Christian.” Hermione says, as always the first to pick up on the more subtle details. “That’s why you say ‘By the Gods’ instead of ‘Thank God.’”

“Precisely.” I say, suddenly finding my empty goblet to be immensely interesting as I pick it up to examine the inside. My beliefs aren’t something that I usually discuss. Mostly because any answer I give will raise more questions that they potentially answer.

Hermione makes a sound in the back of her throat as she mulls over this new piece of information. “Well, at least that’s one mystery solved.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Ron says, having found his voice. “When do we get to the part about no Christmas?”

Harry rolls his eyes and completely ignores his friend. “So what exactly are you?”

My eyes travel to each set staring back at me, suddenly uncomfortable at being the centre of attention. “My Mother described it as Pseudo-Apollodorus. Their no other modern translation and the real words were lost to history.” At their confused look I clear my throat and continue, hoping we might be able to move onto another topic soon. “I think it’s quite popular in muggle culture. The most well-known gods being Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon.”

Understanding colours Harry’s face and he clicks his fingers in recognition. “Ancient Greek Mythology. We covered that in primary school.”

“That’s a very…” Hermione stops, choosing his words carefully. “Unorthodox belief system.”

“You mean strange.” I say the word she had been trying to avoid as to not offend me. “I suppose it is. You can trace my Mother’s linage all the way back to the storming of Troy. My family just never forgot. Passed from one generation to the next.” I lapse into a happy silence for a moment. Remembering the tales my Mother would weave for her children’s amusement. Always teaching us of the Gods and Titans through our entertainment. I miss her terribly, though I could never say such a thing out loud. I shake the images from my mind, hoping that my emotions had not shown on my face. “Enough about me. How was your holiday?”

6666655555555577777777

After a feast fit for a king, I escort the three Gryffindor’s up to the north tower, more out of fear that Ron might keel over at any moment, judging from the amount of turkey and sprouts he managed to cram into his thin, lanky frame.

Ron’s door is the first we reach and with a sleepy. “Night.” He shuts us out in the hallway.

“Is he going to be okay?” I ask the two remaining friends. A little worried that he might just explode.

“Yeah.” It’s Harry that finally answers, still with a weary look at Ron’s door. “He just needs to sleep it off.” He turns on Hermione and me just as she slips her hand along my palm to grasp at my fingers. I watch as Harry smiles at the gesture. “I think I can find my way back from here.” He takes a step back, his eyes dancing with amusement. “You two… urm. You have a good night.” He turns on his heel and without looking back disappears around a corner and out of sight.

I blink back my confusion and after Hermione gently tugs on my hand I turn and fall into step at her side. “I have no idea what that was about.” I admit aloud, almost fearful of the boys very strange behaviour.

“He’s giving us some privacy.” Hermione’s voice is laced with promise as she speaks.

“Oh.” I say, wondering when I was going to be clued in on her plans for this evening. “Does he know something I don’t?”

“Only that I missed you.” We come to a stop at her door and she turns on me, her free hand running across the skin of my cheek to guide me down so my lips can meet hers. She pulls back ever so slightly and as she whispers to me her breath cascades sensuously over my skin. “Stay with me tonight.”

With my eyes still closed I whimper at her request. “I would love nothing more than that.”

She steps backwards and completely removes any contact from me. “I’m sensing a ‘but’ coming.”

I open my eyes to be met with her hurt expression. “I… I have something to attend to.”

She averts her gaze from me and I suddenly feel the odd sensation of guilt striking me in the chest. “Is there any point asking what it is?”

“Probably not.” I answer honestly, knowing now I shouldn’t have said anything and just risk the potion brewing in my quarters over cooking.

“What have you gotten yourself into?” Her voice grows stern as her fists land on her hips.

If she had thought that a little sternness would have me spilling my secrets I’m afraid she is about to be sorely mistaken. “Nothing dangerous.” I had chosen the least dangerous formula from the list for the first try, it is also the one least likely to work judging by the ingredients in it but it would be foolish not to start at the bottom and work my way up to the more dangerous potions. “Look.” I take a step forward and run my hands along her upper arm in an attempt to pacify her. “I should only be an hour, if that. I’d like to come back if you’ll have me.”

“Will you tell me what you’re doing?”

“No.” She doesn’t like my answer, the look on her face tells me as much. “Please don’t be upset.”

“Something is this important to you and you’re hiding it from me. How do you want me to feel?” I can feel my resistance beginning to crumble, unsure as to why. “One of these days, I’m sure. You’re going to let me in. Let me know what you’re thinking when you disappear into that world of yours.”

“When that happens,” I can feel insecurity rising up my throat and have to fight my natural reaction to fall silent. I do permit myself a breath and move my gaze to the floor. “What if you don’t like who you see?”

“It hasn’t so far.” She says opening her arms then dropping them in defeat. “Why does that have you so scared?”

I take a step back, the turn in conversation frustrating me as my tongue feels like a dead weight in my mouth and I have very few ways at my disposal to put my point across without frightening my girlfriend. “Malfoy once called me evil.” She nods in recognition of the event. “You’ve never asked me about that. Not once.”

“He was wrong.” She says this with such convocation that I have to ask myself who she has been spending so much time with. It certainly cannot be the person staring back at me in the mirror every morning.

“How do you know?” I ask, all of a sudden words pressing against the back of my throat and I can’t stop them. Angry at my own actions and emotions, fuelling my words, driving them through the natural barrier of my lips, out into the open air where they can do the most damage. “How can you possibly know that? You said yourself I don’t let you in.” She shakes her head, clearly as surprised as I am with the turn in discussion. “He said that because you’re a werewolf…”

Quickly I cut off her sentence. “No he didn’t. He said that because I’m me. He said that because I could have killed him, would have killed him. It would have been so slow; he would have screamed and begged for his life.” Her gaze drops and I don’t remember when I started looking at her, I drop my stance so I can invade her vision. “Is this too much for you?” I say in a mocking tone.

She steps back retreating from me and I close my eyes to push back the burning tears within them. Now I know I’ve said too much. I grit my teeth so tightly it borders on painful, closing the lid on any more truths that might spill forth.

In an instant her eyes are on me, scrutinizing me. “You’re deflecting.”

“What?” I ask, almost getting lost with the rapid subject change.

“What ever you’re doing tonight, you think it’s worse than killing Malfoy.”

I give a snort of humourless laughter; I hadn’t even realized what I was doing. It just came so naturally. “There are many of things worse than killing Malfoy.” Now I’m doing it again. Old habits certainly do die-hard.

“Jamie.” Her voice is pleading and I know I’m going to crumble under its weight. “What are you hiding?”

For a few moments we just stand in the hallway and stare at each other. Time ticking by as I make a decision. “Come with me.” I say. Making my way along the hallway at a fast pace, down the steps to the ground floor before I can change my mind. Hermione has to jog a few steps every so often to keep up with me and before I know what I’m doing I’m at my door, my shoulder pressed against the withered wood as I whisper. “luna sanguinem riseing.” A quick jab against the door and it opens into my room and I step back so she can enter before me.

I step in behind her and, having still not fixed the bloody thing, have to lift the door back into its frame to close it.

Hermione is forced to take a seat on my bed due to lack of space and I turn to my desk, which presently is looking more like an apothecary table than a writing desk. I have my cauldron set up and a low flame burning steady below it, bringing the mixture inside to a low simmer. A book propped up against the far wall open to the potion I am attempting to brew and jars of ingredients lined up alongside it.

Silently I reach deep into my pocket a pull out the Vulgrim eggs that Blaise gave to me earlier, resting them against the wooden surface before pulling out my chair and turning it so I can take a seat and still watch Hermione’s reaction.

“Potion brewing?” She asks and the tone of her voice tells me how confused she is. “That’s the big secret?”

I haven’t given her all of the pieces of the puzzle but yet I still expect her to understand. “Why would I brew a potion?” I ask.

She shrugs in response. “Extra credit?”

I take a deep breath, working up the courage to tell her. Before now I hadn’t dared bring it up. Couldn’t face it myself let alone see the fear in her eyes every day. I lean forward in my chair pulling on one of the small draws under the desk and pushing the contents around, looking for that one slip of glossy paper I know to be inside. My fingers close around it and I freeze. I know that I am unable to back out now but I can’t shake the feeling that this is not the right thing to do.

I pull the small photograph from the draw and take a moment to cast my eyes over it. In the past week I have spent many hours just staring at it, memorizing it. It’s a picture of me. Under the full moon. Snape managed to take it before I broke through those barred doors for a second time and gave it to me the following morning.

All those pictures in the textbooks bear no resemblance to what I see on that small sheet. In the books the beasts are pulled up onto their hind legs. You can still see their human side even through the wolfish features. This picture shows me much more comfortable on all fours. All trace of humanity washed away under the moons rays. You can see me snarling and barking towards the camera, no sound comes from the picture and I don’t want to imagine the terrifying noises that I must have been making when it was taken.

Turning it in my grasp I hand it to Hermione and watch as her eyebrows fall to hood over her eyes. “Is this you?” I nod at her and she draws her eyes across the page. “You look more like a wolf than Lupin did.”

“Yeah.” I start leaning back in my seat and pulling my gaze to the moss-covered wall. “Snape can’t figure that one out. Nor why I’m that lively on a full draft of Wolf’s Bane.”

I can feel her eyes on me and I can’t bring myself to look at the expression on her face. “So you’re brewing something else?” She concludes. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Not this potion.” I say quickly. “There are others that are.”

“Does Snape know about this?”

Another one of these humourless laughs and her persistent questions give me the courage to look in her direction. “Who do you think gave me the book? Only Wolf’s Bane is approved for people with my condition. He can’t brew anything else without raising suspicion. Umbridge already checks his stock cupboards each week. He needs to explain everything that gets used so I can only use ingredients that are used in his lesson plans. Most of the things for this I’ve needed to get from elsewhere.” I indicate the quietly bubbling potion.

“So…” She stops shaking her head, trying to get her mind around the elaborate deception. “Snape is brewing Wolf’s Bane and then not giving it to you.”

“Oh he’s giving me the drafts, I’m just not drinking it.” The confused expression still hasn’t left her face. “Wolf’s Bane is made in two drafts, when sold together they go for fifty Galleons.”

”Fifty?” She cuts me off with her surprise.

“I’ve seen the recipe, it’s worth way more.” For some reason she hasn’t fled from the room in terror and it’s giving me the confidence to confide in her. “I sell the potion, discreetly. Then I have the money for other ingredients.”

“That’s… very clever.” She says handing me back the photograph. “So Snape trusts you to brew these potions?”

“He has to. Legally Umbridge can’t search my room without cause. Even if she gives me a shack in the Forbidden Forest, she can’t enter.” I take one long look at the picture and rest it on the desk before wringing my hands nervously. “You’re not running.” I say and have to physically restrain myself from slapping my palm against my own forehead at my own stupidity.

She looks dazed for a moment then brings her eyes into focus. “Why would I?” She asks in such an innocent way that my heart begins to hammer in my chest. Why isn’t she frightened?

“I’m an untameable, vicious beast.”

“One night of the month.” She continues for me.

“One long night.” I counter. “So far I’ve broken two steel barred doors. What if I get out? Do you really think I’m going to be safe and cuddly when I’m outside of the cage?” I look over at her to find her with this expression of amusement. “What?” I ask.

She shrugs apparently coming to terms very quickly with the uniqueness of my condition. “Sarcasm looks good on you.” She clears her throat and draws the conversation back on track. “Not long ago you were telling me about how much you wanted to kill Malfoy, now you’re worried about something that is beyond your control.”

I knew that was going to come around and bite me in the arse. “Malfoy was hurting you. It makes me want to hurt him.”

Somehow that sentence pulls a smile across her face. “I think that may be one of the most disturbing and sweetest things you’ve ever said to me.” She shakes her head at me the throws a pointed look at the cauldron on my desk. “How much attention does that potion need?”

I clear my throat. I reach for a single egg and slice it in half with a scalpel, then drop one half into the mixture. I take the time to turn the heat down still further then lean back in my seat. “Done.”

“Really?” She asks me one eyebrow raised. “We really argued about that?”

“Almost seems silly now.”

She nods. “I think most arguments do in hindsight.” She stands from her perch on my tiny bed and holds her hand out to me. “Now, can we go upstairs and make up properly?”

The playfulness in her tone draws me in and I feel my mood lightening significantly. “Why Miss Granger, I think you might be seducing me.”

“That does depend on if you let me.”

The grin I pull across my face lights up the entire of my insides, “Oh, everyday.” I say putting my hand in hers and allowing her to lead me to her private quarters.


	17. Chapter 17: Inevitable and Irreversible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. This has been a long time comeing. Lets finish this on this site. One day, Lets go

Chapter 17

When my eyes open my first instinct is to glare at the window opposite me. It would be nice if just for one day I could be woken after the sun is high in the sky but no, this is starting to become a pattern. Every morning at sunrise my eyes open and my body refuses any further sleep. It's infuriating, especially on a weekend such as this morning, when Hermione, along with the rest of the student body, sleep in.

I turn my head to look at the back of my sleeping partner. She has kept her promise much better than I had expected her to, keeping to the side of the bed furthest from the door and barely touching me as we sleep. Gradually it has lead to me spending much more than the weekends up in the north tower, apart from retuning to my tiny room on the ground floor to see to my potions I am practically living in this room, much to Hermione's delight.

With a deep sigh of resignation I push myself and turn my body so I can sit on the edge of the bed, scrubbing my hands over my face and running them through my hair, with no idea how I am going to entrain myself on this particular Saturday morning. After pushing my arms high above my head so I can stretch out the stiffness of the limbs I stand and pad over to Hermione's chest of draws. One of which she took great trouble emptying out so I could move some of my own clothing upstairs. I quickly find myself something suitable to dress in, knowing that I will unable to get comfortable just lounging around in such a state of undress when I feel so completely awake.

After a quick wash in the sink I find myself standing in the middle of the spacious room with no idea how to occupy my mind for the next few hours as the castle wakes up around me. I had thought that my persistent alertness when the sun rose would cease with the steady retreat of winter and the hours of daylight becoming longer. I had been wrong. For some reason I cannot stop myself from waking as the sun does each and every morning, regardless of how late I retired the night before or how early the sunrise is in the day. I have since attributed the strange behaviour to not being used to having any direct sunlight as I wake over the years, though I do not complain about the matter, after having found that the even breaths of another in the bed are soothing enough to drop me into Morpheus' realm with very little effort.

Lowering myself down into the desk chair and racking my brains to come up with at least one homework assignment that I have yet to complete, frustrated when I can think of none. Which leaves me with only one option. It takes me a few moments to locate the leather bound book I had been avoiding for weeks and opening it to the appropriate page. I take out an inkwell and cast a glance over my shoulder Hermione to check she is still asleep. It took a great deal of time to even admit the existence of my journal to the woman but I am still uncomfortable with her knowing its contents and when I write in it. This is largely the reason why a concealing charm has been placed upon it.

I don't know how long I lean over the book, reading over the previous entries and the writing about everything I can think of since I last used it, only important factors come to mind, Wolf's bane and it's lack of effectiveness and the subsequent arguments between Hermione and myself over it. Since then very little has happened slowly we slipped into another year, lessons merging days and weeks into one expanse of time that all appear to have very little relevance. So by the time I have committed my inner thoughts to paper the figure in the bed is beginning to stir. I charm and close the book, setting it back onto the desk where I found it and turn in her direction just as her sleepy eyes open to greet me with a smile. "Morning." She says groggily, already used to the odd hours I have been keeping. "I'd have thought after last night you would at least stay in bed." Slowly she brings her hands to her face and pushing the heel of each palm into her eyes in a bid to force them to focus.

Our passions have been rising as of late, months into the relationship and everything still feels fresh. Granted we are usually making up because I have some in ability to share something or other. Though it is a becoming less a less frequent occurrence. I think I might be very slowly learning that Hermione doesn't give up. Once she knows I'm hiding something she's like a dog with a bone. Just wont let it go. So I've taken to giving in, answering the questions she asks. I admit with as little detail as possible but I am slowly learning to open myself up more.

"I'm sorry." I say standing from her chair and walking back over to the bed. I rest myself down lying down alongside her and bending my arm at the elbow to rest my head against my palm. "How's this?"

Her sleepy smile is worth the effort. "Much better." She pulls herself into a sitting position and rests her lips against mine. "What have you been up to this morning?"

"This and that." I answer vaguely. Already knowing that such a phrase could provoke an argument, quickly I promise myself that if she does push the issue I will give her a much more detailed answer.

She makes a noise of disapproval and raises an eyebrow but doesn't quiz me further. "What time is it?"

"Urm." I glance down at my watch "Half nine."

Her forehead creases into a frown and then drops herself back to the bed. "It's still to early." Up until recently Hermione was an early riser. Finding solitude in the library or around her friends. However as I became her sleeping companion her has been waking later and later each day in direct contract to my own sleeping habits.

"For you, maybe." I complain.

"How is it my fault you can't stand sunlight?" Her deep brown eyes meet mine for a few moments before she continues. "Maybe we could stay in your room for a few nights. You might be able to sleep in then."

"My bed isn't big enough for one, let alone two. Besides the whole room smells of fish at the moment." I am really beginning to think that this potion is not going to work.

"What exactly are you brewing down there?"

"Occurrere Lunae." I answer immediately, hoping that I have the pronunciation correct. "It's a really old recipe. It's supposed to make the wolf feel full. Hopefully, then it wont be quite so interested in Snape."

"You could just eat Snape." She says, thoughtfully looking up at the ceiling. "I think most of the school would thank you."

I offer her a token laugh before jumping to the potion master's defence. "Snape's not so bad. He's helping me. A lot." Over the past weeks my trust for my head of house has gradually climbed to heights I had not expected. Every time he hides something from Umbridge, every time he tries to come up with some solution, every book he gives me. Even every time he asks me if I'm all right. I feel like he is trying with all of his power to protect me.

Hermione's palm gliding across the skin at my cheek brings me back to the present. "I know. I'm sorry." Snape is a sticking point between the three Gryffindor's and myself. Harry is still convinced that he is working on behalf of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and does not think he should be trusted. Even though I am uncertain where his allegiances lie when it comes to the war, for right now for some reason he has my best interests at heart. If that isn't enough I don't know what can be. "Do you think this one will work?" She asks brining my attention to the potion currently brewing on my desk.

"No" The certainty in my voice is disheartening at best.

"Why?"

I shrug at her lowering my gaze to the bedspread, which has become much more interesting than the last time I look at it. "Last one didn't" The only change in my last transformation was my nightmare. Something that I have kept to myself. Everything I have read, every single account submitted by werewolves to describe the change says that it is nothing but darkness. Can't think, can't feel. Yet I dream, every time since the first.

When I transformed the third time, at the winter holidays I dreamt again of Nanauatl, though not quite as explosive as the time before. I didn't not dream of the flames, the burning. I lived behind his eyes as he bowed to his masters, willingly giving both his penance and blood. I woke that morning in a panic, checking every square inch of flesh I could reach in search of those wounds. I found none but felt the painful ghost of them on my skin for hours afterwards.

The last time, it was different. I was different. Everything was. It was horrific and I would have much preferred the burning and the blood. In my dream someone referred to me as Malina. I say someone because I never saw his face. Only the bleary outlined shadow of a man. Looming above me. Grunting, groaning and grinding. I woke with tears burning in my eyes. I had never felt so violated. My dreams have never conjured up such images before and I was ill prepared for them.

They are just dreams. It only takes hours to push them to the back of my mind and try to forget what my subconscious mind has conjured up to entertain me through the nights of the full moon. Yet I can't get over how real they feel. Like memories brought to life.

"Jamie?" For the second time she pulls me from my thoughts and I have never been more grateful. "What are you thinking about?"

Without hesitation I answer her. "Just thinking about the next potion." Just because I am starting to open myself to her does not make me above lying. "Speaking of which, next time you go to Hogsmeade can you get a few things for me?"

She is so taken aback by the question that she over looks my deflection. "You're not going?"

"No." I answer lifting myself to once again to sit at the side of the bed. "My Father saw fit to remove his consent for me to leave the castle."

"Can he do that?" She says after a moments pause.

"Apparently." I get to my feet. The thoughts of my nightmares making me restless, needed to get out of this room and do something, anything. "Umbridge took great pleasure of informing me of that fact."

"You never said anything." The accusation is laced within her tone.

There isn't much I can do about my silence on the matter now so I only shrug. "I'm telling you now."

"Good point." There is a long pause as she pulls the covers further up her chest. "You're not angry?"

That is something I have to think about. I have every right to be irate at the man, yet I cannot summon the energy to do so. "No. Just surprised it took him so long."

Even though I am trying to make light of the entire situation the silence between us is heavy as I wait for her to speak. Watching that look of sympathy descend upon her face that she knows I cannot stand, her mouth opens and closes and few times as if she wishes to speak but thinks better if it. Eventually she decides to avoid the topic of my family completely. "Give me a list, I'll get you everything you need." I give her a smile of thanks. I know she is concerned for my situation but she can do nothing to ease it, I would much rather she just ignored the existence of the entire thing.

With the conversation, as far as I am concerned, finished and the lateness of the hour I begin to get itchy feet pacing up and down the room. If she doesn't suggest some sort of activity soon I might just burst.

"How can you be so restless so early in the morning?" she asks pushing the covers down her naked skin, bearing herself to my gaze, which quickly stops my pacing so I am able to better admire the view.

Even with my eyes glued to her I am able to come up with an adequate response. "I've been up since eight."

"I see." She stands and takes one look at the lustful look on my face. Before shaking her head and disappearing into her private bathroom with a wistful. "Sometimes you're worse than the boys." Thrown over her shoulder.

"It's not my fault you're so attractive." I accuse through the door before realising how long she may spend in there. "I'm going for a walk." I call out to her already reaching for my robes.

"Don't get into trouble." The sound of the shower running reaches my ears as my hand reaches for the doorknob. "Seventh floor midday. Don't forget." She calls out to my back.

"I wont." I whisper closing the door behind me, knowing she will be unable to hear me. Then turn to amble my way through the endless corridors of Hogwarts Castle

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I did manage to stay out of trouble for the whole two hours I was on my own. Mostly due to the fact the whole school was almost deserted. Many of them flocking to the Great Hall for breakfast, this is something I avoid at all costs when there are insufficient witnesses around to prevent any sort of violence.

So after taking a stroll through the castle and around the Black Lake I let my slow steady stride take me to the seventh floor, where I pace the hallway until the door appears to the Room of Requirement, only to find that I am in fact late to the resistance meeting. "… a happy memory…" Harry cuts off his sentence at the sound of the door opening and closing behind him. He fights to keep his lips from twitching up into an amused smile. "Nice of you to join us." I mealy shrug my shoulders and make to join the group hoping to avoid any further berating from my friend, to little avail. "We were just talking about casting a Patronus Charm."

"Really?" I say shortly, unhappy with the shear number of eyes that are on me.

"Yeah." His arms are crossed and he is enjoying my discomfort far too much for my liking. "Know how to cast that one?"

He received a raised eyebrow and a curt reply in response. "Not exactly in my repertoire."

"I see," He says his eyes shining, happy that he is able to teach me something. "As I was saying, the spell comes from within, you need a memory that makes you feel so happy, so warm that it can over power a Dementor's presence. A true Patronus…"

The whispered statement of "You forgot." across my ear forces me to divide my attention between the boy who lived and Hermione.

"No. I lost track of time." I whisper back frowning at Harry's description of the stag he is able to conjure up. "Completely different."

"Right." She says, her voice full of disbelief.

"The only way we can really learn this is to try it." Harry says and I already have a bad feeling about this entire thing. Happy memories? This should certainly be interesting. "Off you go then." Harry says using his hands to shoo us all away so we are able to practice.

I wrack my brain for a memory that makes me feel truly happy. There are so precious few from my childhood, even fewer since I started school. Many things I remember made me feel happy at the time, yet with my rapidly changing views of the world they no longer fill me with joy. The play of a smile across my Fathers face once made me happy, ecstatic even, now all I wish is to see him strung up by his thumbs weeping in anguish. Such memories are now no longer useable.

There are of course memories if my Mother. Though I cannot place a single time that I had been truly happy in her presence. Warm, protected, loved and needed all of these pleasurable feelings. All of them I can recall a specific moment when I felt them. Though trying to find a moment that was pure, untainted joy for me I find myself struggling.

Perhaps, moments with Hermione? That first meeting by the lake, even now I can feel my whole body singing just being close to her. However my motives on that day were not pure. Something I now feel a deep shame to admit. The day I professed my love for her? Something I did out of shear desperation having been laid bare to the eyes of the entire school.

An otter composed entirely of light scampers around my legs and I am not surprised to find Hermione's twinkling eyes flowing it. She is always so good at these things so quickly. Though I find myself instantly curious as to what memory she would have chosen.

Every moment I can conjure in my mind that I can associate even closely to happiness is tainted by my own actions. I chose three memories in turn and unsuccessfully try to call a Patronus to the tip of my wand. Quickly running out of memories. Then something strikes my mind wondering and then settles on a setting I have never seen before. My eyes close to bring it into focus, the thought is so vivid it could almost be true.

In my minds eyes my arms are held outstretched, tips of fingers gently caressing the fruit hanging from chest high stems. My forehead creases, I recognise the plant to be rice but can never remember walking through a field of it. I am more than a little startled when my chest sours and a joyous feeling seeps into my very bones, lighting me from the inside out making me feel like I could walk on water or reach out and touch the stars. This may not be a memory but the feeling it elects must be enough.

Without opening my eyes, unwilling to break the spell I gently speak the words. "Expecto Patronum." I feel the spell at it leaves my wand drawing on the images that fill my mind.

Gasps fill the room instantly and my eyes snap open to assess any apparent danger only to come face with my other form. Snarling at me.

Instantly I take a step back. The wolf before me crouched low to the ground over its front paws in an aggressive pose. It's ears pulled back and its muzzle twitching to bear its teeth. The creature is not exceptionally big, it could easily be mistaken for an over gorwn wolf running free in the forests. Yet its eyes show more than its size could ever convey.

It's looking at me, its eyes assessing every part of my form. Not because I called fourth a reflection of my primal form for all around to see. It looks on me in such a way because it knows that I am the one who fights so hard to lock it up and keep in buried down in the dark where it belongs. Its gaze burning in resentment, scolding my skin and even though it hasn't moved I am forced to take another step back.

Slowly it pushes its weight onto its front paws, stalking slowly towards me and on instinct I raise my wand against it. "How do I make it stop?" I ask removing not moving my eyes from the advancing wolf. Hearing the terror in my own voice and for once not caring that all other ears in the room can are witness to it.

I see Harry holding his hands out in a pacifying gesture at the edges of my peripheral vision. "Just calm down. It's reacting to you. You control it."

"I'm not doing that." I say taking a step back as the snarling muzzle advances another step. "How do I stop it?"

He sighs shaking her head. "Just forget the memory that conjured it. It's that simple."

I laugh and chance a look at the boy, hoping that my face portrays how insane that sentence makes him sound. "I'm a werewolf Harry." My teeth grit tightly and frustration and fear quickly give way to anger. "I have to be that thing. I shouldn't have to look at it. Happy memories aren't exactly on my mind right now."

When I look back at the creature I'm sure that it's closer than I remember it being and I tighten my hold on my wand. Unsure if it feels threatened by the action, only knowing that it makes me feel safer.

"I don't know any other way." Harry says. "You just let go of the memory."

I can barely recall what the memory was; only that it wasn't mine and made me feel so joyous I could have almost sang. In a panic I strike out flicking my wand and throwing a cautions stunning curse in the direction of my Patronus. The reaction is both unexpected and instantaneous. In a movement much swifter than I could have anticipated it jumps to the side, dodging the spell and throws itself into a run in my direction. The long stride swallows the distance between us in two steps and much faster than I could have reacted. When it is barely a foot from me it jumps, its form pushing into my chest and disappearing into my body, the weight pushing me backwards into a fall. Then my vision fills with a blinding white light moments before my back hits the floor.

It takes me less than a second to realise the grip on my wand in gone and I am left holding nothing but air. My eyes desperately skate over my surroundings only to find that I am not in the Room of Requirement any longer.

Around me there is nothing, the landscape a never-ending bare, white canvas.

The sound of a low threatening growl pulls me from any further appraisal of the surrounding area. To find the black nose of a wolf so close to my own it has me scrabbling away in fear, before I am able to even process the implications. The beast's lips draw skywards in a snarl and the low rumble from its chest intensifies dramatically. "You fear me." The lips of the wolf do not move, instead the words bombard my ears from every angle of the open space and I lose enough presence of mind to turn my head and seek out the voice.

Upon finding none my eyes make their way to the creature across from me. "You can not be talking to me." I state, knowing this to be fact and finding myself doubting it.

"And yet." It begins, the snarl dropping from its muzzle and it's ears rising up from along its neck. Already looking less ominous with the small movement. "Here we are." It pauses for a moment, taking the time to pull its forepaw towards its body and bending its hind legs so it is able to rest against its rump. "I had not anticipated us meeting so early. I had not thought you ready. Yet you summon me."

"I didn't summon you." I snap, immensely grateful that the canine has not advanced on me further.

The creature tilts its head to the side in an open display of curiosity. "You pried on my memories and called me into your world."

My limbs begin to shake and I struggle to keep the wavering from my voice. "No, I summoned a Patronus based on an image that made me feel happy."

The menacing, distinctly feminine voice makes a low sound of comprehending. "It would appear my actions have been in haste. Still, it is of little consequence. You have accessed knowledge of which cannot be unlearned."

Slowly and shakily I clamber to my feet. Hoping that the height advantage and the ability to sprint when needed may alleviate some of my fright. "What…" I cut off my own question, rethinking the order of my words. "Who are you?"

It's like I can feel that the wording off my question appeases it. It is pleased that I am able to refer to it as another living being. Not a thing crawling around in my chest to be feared. "You may refer to me as Amaterasu."

It does not continue, leaving me space to continue my questioning. "Where are we?"

"You and I exist within the same entity. Yet we have not come into contact with one another until now. A buffer was placed within you mind between us for your own protection. The unused space within your mind, we may now traverse this and communicate."

My jaw tightens and it dawns on me very suddenly that this goes for beyond the realms of insanity. "I'm not very talkative." I say in a desperate plea for this creature, this dark dangerous aspect of my body to leave me in piece, until the moon calls it forth and pushes me so deep into my nightmares that I cannot hear it howl.

"What has been done cannot be undone. Though, that you are ill prepared to receive me is a worry." The voice vibrating all around me pauses to take a deep breath just as the wolf pulls a lungful of air in through its nose. It's head tilts to the side, it's ears pitching forward as is straining to hear something that my ears cannot detect. "Our time is running short. So I must be brief. What is to happen upon your awakening is both inevitable and irreversible. For that I must offer you my deepest sympathies."

That particular word sets my teeth on edge immediately and just as I am about to step forward and give this Amaterasu a piece of my mind, wolf or no wolf, everything around me flashes a blinding white. Obscuring her form and the surrounding area from my view.

When the world snaps back into focus I'm staring at the intricate carvings along the high wooden ceilings in the Room of Requirement. Hermione's hands groping at my face, my name falling from her lips over and over in a bid to grab my attention. I come back into myself with a strangled gasp and my shaking fingers close around her upper arms before I have time to even think about the movement. Her startled scream is so loud that when it reaches my ears the sound rings through my skull and has my gaze snapping to meet her eyes. Her fear and concern showed so plainly on her face that I can almost feel it tickling at my nostrils.

Wind and drums roar in my ears to such an extent I can barely hear my own voice as I ask. "What happened?"

For a second she looks like she might answer, her jaw working but being unable to produce any words. "I don't know." She finely says and her loud thundering voice slams into me with the force of a speeding train and I have to shut my eyes tightly against the sudden pounding behind my eyes. I feel my muscles bunching and twitching and lack the ability to stop them. "Jamie?"

It's too much. Why is she screaming at me so? Why is her voice so oppressing and demanding of my attention? "Stop shouting at me." I plea. Tightening my trembling grip on her upper limbs.

Her breathing quickens and rumbles through my head like an oncoming storm. The sound rising high above the steady beat of drums all around me. "I wasn't." By the tone of her voice I know she could have no more than whispered to me but the sound rumbles through my senses threatening to knock be backwards with the force.

The muscles along my neck begin to twitch, pulling against my chin and force my whole head into a rhythmic tick that I can no more suppress than my own rapid breathing. Every single muscles across my chest starts trembling in earnest and I force my eyes open needing to see some reassurance in her deep brown eyes. What I find there is anything but the resounding look of helplessness makes me wish I had stayed in the darkness.

Something warm and wet touches my upper lip and her gaze in immediacy drawn to it, her mouth slowly falling agape. Needing to know what could cause her to look at me in such a way I pry my fingers from around her arm and run them under my nose. Gathering the moisture and pulling my hand far enough away to see the glistening red blood that coats them. "What…?" I feel myself asking but my own body cuts off my question. Without warning my eyes roll back in their sockets and the twitching spreads from my neck all along my shoulders, forcing my limbs the thrash and jerk against Hermione's hold.

"Everybody out!" I don't know who shouts, the sound is so loud and booming inside my skull that I cannot even distinguish its gender. It's immediately followed by the thunders of many footfalls upon hollow wooden floor. In response my back arches, still twitching at a maddening pace.

A hand grazes the skin of my cheek and weaves into my hair to cover the crown of my head, where it has been bashing against the floor.

"Hermione." Ginny. I'm certain that's Ginny. It's lower in volume than the shout a moment ago but still too much for my ears to bear. "We have to go. She's starting to change."

Am I? It that what this looks like? How can I be transforming? The midday sun is still high in the sky, I can feel its presence coating my skin and seeping into my limbs. With no moon to call forth the beast within me how can I possibly be changing?

Hermione pitches her voice to a whisper somehow knowing that it is the level of sound that is causing me such discomfort. "No she's not."

"How can you possibly know that?" Ginny however has not lowered her voice and the noise seizes my muscles along my back tighter before releasing them.

"Because she's not screaming." Hermione's response has anyone else around fall into silence and the sounds booming in my head begin to calm. Instead of a thousand drums there are only four. The raw of thunder tapers off into a strong gale in my ears and one by one my muscles come back under my control. I feel a thumb stroking along my cheekbone gently keeping me away from the dark depths of unconsciousness. "Jamie?" She can no more than have breathed to word but I can hear every syllable as if she were screaming it down my ear. "Sweetheart, you had a seizure." Her voice is keeping my mind alert but the fatigue in my limbs prevents me from being able to respond beyond the crease along my forehead.

"Is she awake?" A male voice hits my eardrums with such ferocity that I am unable to recognise it and the muscles along my back stiffen, threatening to start the whole ordeal anew.

Hurriedly Hermione turns from me as speaks in a harsh whisper. "Keep you're voice down."

Ginny's voice once again washes over me. "We should get her to the hospital wing."

My breathing hitches as I try with all of my might to move at least one of my limbs. An episode like this would be more than enough for Umbridge to declare me a danger. Giving her opportunity to remove me from the school and possibly society as a whole. We have to keep this a secret for as long as possible but to do that I have to move.

"Is she trying to speak?" That booming male voice bombards my senses for a second time and after hearing Hermione shift around at my side a small whispered. "Sorry." Tells me Ron is still in the room.

My eyelids feel like lead as I pry them open, only to snap them closed when light invades them. Gritting my teeth I try a second time and squint against the bright light pushing against my pounding head, patently waiting for my eyes to bring everything into focus. A bleary outline of Hermione and she unsurely smiles down at me. "Hi." She whispers looking to be a loss for words. "Are you okay?"

Muscles shake all along my arm as I bring my hand to my head, pushing the heel of my palm against my throbbing temples. Without either the energy or inclination to lie I croakily answer. "No." Pulling salvia into my mouth in an attempt to wet the back of my throat so I am able to speak. "What is that drumming?"

I watch as a look is thrown across my prone body between Hermione and Ginny. It is at this point that I notice a steady throb beneath the skin of Hermione's neck very subtlety, so tiny that by all rights it should be invisible to the naked eye. I watch, realisation settling over me as it steadily beats in time with one of the drums.

The first time I realise I have moved is when I see my fingers bruising over her neck, ignoring her confused expression as I press them against her pulse. Honing my new sensitive ears onto that one steady drumbeat. "You're drumming." I say, not ready to admit even to myself what I can hear pressing against my ears.

The steady beat quickly gathers pace and I see her eyes widen. "You can hear my heart?"


	18. Chapter 18: Overload

Chapter 18

The steady pulsing beneath my two fingers, along with the steady drumming against my ears quickly gains momentum. The scent of what I can only describe as fear hits my nose an instant later. The change in sensations has my eyes twitching skywards, threatening to roll them up in their sockets and throw my body once again into turmoil. Desperately I move my hand against her skin and cup the side of her neck in my palm, stroking my thumb against any inch of flesh it can reach, in a bid to calm her racing heart.

"What exactly does that mean?" Ginny asks, finally lowering her voice to an urgent whisper.

Hermione's eyes lose focus and dart around in their sockets for a few moments. Her forehead creasing as she rapidly disregards each idea. Thoughts whizzing around in her head at such pace that we would have trouble keeping up. "It means you should go to the hospital wing." She finally says, her voice hitching and for the first time I see Hermione Granger at a loss. Not a single nugget of information in her vast knowledge to apply to this situation.

I shake my head, immediately regretting the movement when a wave of nausea hits me like an unrelenting tsunami. "No." I manage to choke out. Sliding my eyes closed and once again pressing my palm against my throbbing temple.

"You're in pain."

"No." I say, raising my voice so it sounds firm, hating the way that it presses against my eardrums and makes me flinch away from it.

Hermione releases a frustrated breath and removes her hands from my skin, pressing her fingers into her eyes. "Why do you have to be so stubborn?" She sighs again and through the slits in my eyes I can see her jaw working beneath her skin as she thinks of the best course of action. Dropping her hands into her lap she gives me a long disapproving look. "Do you really think Umbridge would use something like this against you?"

My lips curl ever so slightly. For all my time in the library researching my condition, reading eye witness accounts of the transformation and hunting out the precious few accounts of actual werewolves I have never come across even a passing mention of heightened senses being present in any cases, nor ever having the ability of communicating in any way with the primal part of their being. To the best of my knowledge this event is unprecedented. Forcing me to once again admit to myself the uniqueness of my disease, every new aspect I discover raising more questions than is feasible to answer. All of them can be appraised in such a light and deem me a danger to those around me, any sensible minister wouldn't think twice about removing me from society and I have to admit that I would be unable to blame them for the decision. If this sort of knowledge if it were to fall into the hands of someone so prejudice as Dolorous Umbridge, I would be unwilling too guess at the repercussions I would face. "Yes." My voice lowers once again to a whisper.

"Okay." She says dropping in a state of deep concentration. Her eyes close in a show of defeat for just a moment before she turns her gaze behind her. "Harry. We're going to need your map."

I hear his footsteps seconds before his voice reaches my ears. "No problem."

"You want to move her?" Ron says his cautious footsteps bring him closer to me. "Is that a good idea?"

"If you have anything better Ron. I'm all ears." Hermione says turning desperate eyes to her friend. At the slow shake of his head she turns back to me. "Is it still too loud?"

It's not just too loud, it's too bright, the smells hitting my nostrils and tongue too invasive and numerous. So much information is hitting my senses all at once, making my brain feel like it is swelling inside my skull. I only permit myself to nod at her, not ready to voice to the fullest extent, exactly what I am going through in this moment.

"Alright, I'm going to try something." I hear her robes rustle and the sound of her grip adjusting on her wand has my eyes opening on impulse, eyeing the weapon with suspicion. "Trust me." She says, her fingers loosening on the shaft of her wand in a nervous gesture, giving me even less confidence in whatever she might have planned. After taking a deep breath she points the tip right between my eyes and softly whispers. "Muffliato."

For a moment the noises dim the pounding against my eardrums dip to a dull thump, the brightness dims to an almost bearable level as I blink away the lasting effect from my vision. I let myself think that such a simple spell may have worked, my lips beginning to lift in a small smile of relief. Just at the moment that I open my mouth to inform her of the spells effect, white-hot, scolding pain shoots through my skull with such ferocity that my hands dart up to protect my head, pushing against it as it threatens to explode. Steaks of blinding light run across my vision and even when I clamp my eyelids closed it still dances around amongst the darkness. Without my consent my mouth falls open and agonising screams are ripped from my throat at such a volume that the sound presses against my senses, pushing its way into my consciences so it vibrates around inside my skull adding yet more sensation to this torture my own body is inflicting. With my hearing retuning to it's newly amplified volume I know my own cries are a large part of the pain that my nails are trying desperately to claw from my skull but yet I cannot stop them. The agony I feel unable to be suffered in silence and must be cried out into the hollow room to relive the unmanageable pressure behind my eyes.

My feet push against the wooden floor, scraping against it, pushing my back along it's surface and trying to physically distance myself from the unbearable torture inside my head. My muscles twisting and turning my body in all directions is a vain attempt to find some position that will alleviate the feeling inside of me.

"Hate to say it Hermione!" Ginny has raised her voice to be heard over my shrieks of pain. "But she's screaming now!"

A hand grips my elbow in an attempt to still my movement and the desperate shout of "Finite Incantate!" can be heard, it echoes around the empty room hitting my ears more than once and the pain instantly recedes to a dull throb behind my eyes.

My body lands on the floor with a bang, every limb, every muscle shaking violently, tears leaking from my eyes and my lower lip pulled between my teeth to keep any further shouts of anguish in check, though nothing can halt the pitiful whimpers rising from the depths of my chest, my nails still digging painfully into my scalp to provide some small distraction against what is happening within my very skin.

Hermione's wand clatters onto the floor and her hands cover mine. Pulling at my fingertips so I can do myself no further damage, her voice shaking with the threat of tears as the repeats in a strangled whisper "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Over and over again, the tangy sent of salt hits the open air as her tears begin to fall down her cheeks. "I wont do that again."

I want to tell her she had no way of knowing what would happen. That to chose such a simple and harmless spell was the most logical cause of action. That none of this is her fault. Yet all I am able to do is lie here, shaking with my suffering and trying to stave off another seizure my improved senses keep threatening to provoke.

Outside I hear pacing footsteps before the door opens, now in the calmer atmosphere around me I notice an additional sent wafting up my nose just as the door clicks closed. The smell is familiar yet I am unable to place its source. "Harry?" I ask before I am able to finish the thought. With the word released into the open air I cannot understand why I had been unable to consciously recognise his presence, with every instinct in my body screaming at me that it is the boy who lived.

His footsteps falter on the wooden floor and he pitches his voice to a low whisper. "Yeah. Just me." Even though I cannot see him from my prone position on the floor I can hear his gaze shift towards Hermione and his eyelids decent to moisten his eyes. "I thought my cloak would be useful."

"Good idea Harry." Hermione says and the turns her attention, back in my direction. "Can you walk?" I bite back a venomous retort at her question, knowing that my own pride often does more harm than good when I am offered aid. I nod to the positive not trusting my own words.

At Hermione's instruction, Ginny takes the weight of one of my arms and cradles it in her hands as Harry does the same along my other side, I pull my knees bent so I can gain some purchase on the ground and as once they begin to lift my torso from the floor. Between the two of them they are able to coax my trembling body upright, the change in altitude no matter how slight presses against my thumping head and I have to drop my temple to my palm. My whole body feels weaker than a newborn kitten, my knees begin to shake threatening to buckle beneath me and my back twitches again in an aggressive spasm. Suddenly there is a body at my side as Harry runs his arm under mine and pushes his shoulder against my armpit, hoisting me up to pull my arm across his shoulder blades for support, the difference in our height already accommodated for as I am slumped over.

After I throw Harry a distinctly dirty look at his intervention he only lifts his free shoulder in disinterest at me. "Problem?" He says, pitching his voice to a low whisper almost daring me to voice my displeasure at his actions. After gritting my teeth and willing my knees to stop shaking I shake my head but still plant my feet against the floor to hold my body upright. Determined, even with the aid of another to be able to carry my own weight. "Alright, Hermione?" He says, apparently happy that I will not try to fight off his assistance.

Hermione pushes the sleeve of her robes against her cheek to wipe away the rapidly drying tears and unfolds a large piece of parchment, which Harry handed her earlier. Personally I can't see anything useful written upon the page and have to wonder why the boy had to go out of his way to retrieve it along with the strange silver cloak he has handed to Ginny. Although I cannot voice the questions around my rapid breaths I keep wondering how we will be able to manage traversing the hallways hiding under a white sheet, following the directions of a plain sheet of paper without being seen.

Hermione's wand touches the page and she gently whispers. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Even though I couldn't believe the statement uttered from the girlfriends lips for a moment it has a profound effect on the parchment. Black ink swirls around the surface forming words to indicate it's creators, the just as quickly lines draw themselves across the page, names gliding to and fro between them in a fluid motion but Hermione pays them little attention as she quickly unfolds the strange map several times before refolding it to the section she is looking for. "It's clear, but we have go now." She says turning her gaze out way.

"Ginny?" Harry says and without question Ginny throws the silky cloak over both of our heads. Even through my persistent pain I am able to throw a questioning look toward Harry. "Invisibility Cloak." He says by way of explanation and begins to pull me towards the ornate door. Where on earth did he manage to get his hands on an Invisibility Cloak?

Outside of the confines of the cloak I watch Hermione's eyes scan over the strange map a final time before opening the door and hurrying the three of us from the room. She leads us down the corridors, her eyes darting from the map to the surrounding area and then back again, all of us travelling in silence, all eyes but mine vigilant to any movement around us. I quickly discover that I have little need to my eyes. Knowing where each of our party is by listening to the shallow breaths and following each distinct sent given off by each of them.

We pass the top of a staircase and the sounds of thousands of voices travel the length of seven floors from the Great Hall. Each voice hits my eardrums as if they were standing at my side, I am treated to the chorus of a hundred different conversations, each word distinct and clear yet melded together into a thundering illogical orchestra of sound. Without meaning to I try to pick out every sentence, every word, every sound and make them coherent, my brain trying to find so order and pattern to the chaos assaulting my ears.

Muscles tighten and spasm throughout my body and without warning Harry gives a sharp cry of pain, which proves to be my undoing. Behind tightly close eyelids my eyes roll skywards into the back my head, teeth grind painfully against each other and my knees give out from under me, pitching me forward and throwing my body into uncontrollable spasms. Even through the random movements of my back and limbs Harry does not loosen his grip on me, falling to one knee and pressing the flat of his palm against my breastplate to halt my rapid decent before I can land face first on the floor in a mass of twitching limbs.

"What's going on under there?" I hear Ron ask.

Harry gives another grunt of discomfort before adjusting his grip on my back and shifting his weight to push his arm beneath my bent knees. Using strength I didn't know he possessed he lifts my larger body in his arms and pushes himself into a brisk walk with a quiet order of "Move."

The change in angle does nothing to stem the rapidly growing irrepressible impulses running through each of my limbs at random intervals. Twice the boy nearly drops me to the floor but somehow his hold is firm enough for him to reach the door to Hermione's quarters, he is then forced to wait for Hermione to catch up and whisper her password, pushing the door open and he quickly darts into the room. His grip failing him as he passes beneath the threshold, I topple to the ground, suddenly feeling the carpeted floor running against my cheek and arms as I twitch and jerk against it.

"Hermione." Ginny's voice assaults my ears. "What do we do?"

"I don't know." She says sounding defeated. I hear her knees hit the floor and then feel her hands running under my head, providing a buffer between my thrashing skull and the hard floor. "I just don't know."

For endless minuets I convulse in agony, unable to block out the light filtering through my closed eyelids, or the new barrage of aromas invading my nostrils with every shaky breath, or the sounds of frantic heartbeats, hurried breaths and my own flailing limbs. After what feels like an eternity my muscles begin to calm, gradually trailing off to nothing more than a rhythmic twitch deep in my stomach and a steady tremble across my shoulder blades. Hermione gently lifts my head from her hands so she is free to run her fingers through my hair in a comforting way. "Sweetheart?" She pauses and I hear her swallow the lump in her throat just as the salty tank of tears hits my nose. "Are you awake."

I tell my body to do several things, I tell me eyes to open, my arm to move, my mouth to open so I can speak and find myself unable to do any. Fatigue halts any movement and makes every limb feel like lead, leavening me trapped behind my own eyelids.

Somewhere to my left Ron clears his throat. "Is she unconscious?"

"No." Is Hermione's response. "She wouldn't still be twitching."

Ginny moves behind me and the table creaks as she rests against it. "Do you have any idea what's happening?"

"Harry can you help me get her to the bed?" He agrees taking one of my legs in each of her arms. Hermione's hands press against my shoulders and between them they lift me to the comfortable mattress. I can hear her shuffling before she answers Ginny's question. "I have a theory. A guess really." There's a pause and I would imagine someone in the room silently asks her to continue. "She's hearing things a lot louder than we are, things we can't hear. I think it's too much for her brain to cope with. Which is why she keeps having seizures."

Across the room I hear as Ginny's tongue touches her lips to moisten them in thought. "Would that only be affected her hearing?"

There is a heavy pause and Hermione's heart rate begins to speed up a notch. "Ron, close the curtains."

"What? Why?"

"We have five senses Ron." She answers and the curtain rings slide across the pole dimming the light filtering through my eyelids.

I try once again to move in any way, successfully being able to bunch my hand into a fist around the quilt covering Hermione's bed. Trying to ignore the pounding inside my skull I draw saliva into my mouth and swallow. Trying once again to at the very least open my eyes, they twitch but nothing more.

My attention shifts as I hear Harry's feet shuffle against the carpet. "Let me get this straight, all of her senses are working on overdrive and she can't process the information. So the more people who are here, the harder it will be." He doesn't receive any verbal answer but the look on someone face must have confirmed his suspicions because he swallows once and begins to stride towards the door. "Come on Ron, Ginny. We can worry just as much elsewhere." His statement baffles me, why would he be worried? It's hardly as if such a condition as mine is contagious apart from one night a month. There's something in his voice, something I don't think I've ever heard before. Never been exposed to, he's not worried for himself. He's concern is for me. Someone he only knows through association. Perhaps his concern is for Hermione and what this event will do to her. Perhaps I'm reading it wrong, or analysing it to deeply. The door clicks open and they file out one by one, I hear Harry turn. "If you need anything…"

"I know where you'll be." She replies starting to sound tiered. "Thank you." The door quietly closes and for several long moments Hermione just stands at it. Finally I am able to open my eyelids into slits, glad that the only light in the room is the suns ray peaking below the curtains dimming the room to a level, which is almost bearable. It's still enough for her to see my eyes when she turns around. "Jamie." In three strides she has made it to the side of the bed and bent her leg under her to take a seat. Her hand reaches out and inches before she glazes my skin she falters. "Does it hurt when I touch you?"

"No." I utter in a feeble whisper. Almost instantly her thumb rubs against my temple and her fingers weave into my hair. "My head is killing me." I complain as I try to blink back the throbbing pain behind my eyes.

She blinks and a single tear rolls down her cheek. "I can't use any spells. I don't want to cause you any more pain."

"I know." I gain enough feeling in my arm to reach up and take her hand in mine, hoping that it will be a reassuring gesture. Allowing my eyes to follow the decent of that one salty tear down her cheek, marvelling at how I can follow its trail with my sense of smell. The steady stroking of her thumb never stops, the touch, although having no effect on the pain running through my head, offering me comfort far beyond I would ever expect from such a simple movement. "How long was I out for?"

"Just?"

"No." My tongue reaches forward to moisten parched lips. "After the Patronus."

"Only a few seconds. I'd barely made my way over when you awoke." She watches the frown crease my forehead and her eyes fill with curiosity. "Why?"

"I just…" I have to stop myself from saying too much. Being drawn into the unused aspects of my own mind, to converse with the wolf living inside of me is defiantly cause for alarm with regards to my mental heath. "It felt like longer."

Her eyebrows draw together and her lips push into a thin line, giving me a silent look to show she has noticed that I am hiding something. A look I have become accustomed to over the past weeks. After she briefly worried her bottom lip she only shakes her head. "You and your secrets." Her eyes show me the hurt she feels at being kept in the dark but she does not push me into a truthful answer, choosing instead to remain quiet due to my current state of physical distress.

Amongst the silence that follows I take a moment to address my heightened senses, noting with some relief that the privacy that has been afforded to us comes with some benefits. Although the lingering sent of each individual person still lingers in the air, the smells are no longer so potent. The sounds of the castle still reach my ears but are dulled to a much more tolerable murmur. Nothing more than the distance sounds of incoherent chatter that my mind is much more adapt the cope with. The most dominating sound being the slow steady breaths of Hermione at my side and her heart, which is very slowly beginning to take on its normal rhythm.

"Is there anything I can do?" She suddenly asks and for the first time I notice her hand fidgeting in my grasp. With every one of my senses augmented in such a way, how is that I had neglected to notice such a movement?

I take a moment to ponder her question, running a list of possibilities through my head. There are some solutions that I must admit she may have overlooked, if only because they are much darker forms of magic than she would have come into contact with. For example a Bromberry when boiled to a specific degree has the capability to completely remove a persons conscious mind from their body, providing an outer body experience, detaching one from the pain. Granted it has been used in very rare and usually fatal cases with coma patience so they are able to speak with their loved ones. However the Berry is highly addictive as is the feeling of being detached from one's body and as such will be very difficult to get hold of.

There are many spells that I can think of just to ease the pain but after the charm she used in the Room of Requirement I am loath to have her try them for fear of a repeat performance.

All of these magical solutions I can formulate I disregard for one reason or another. Until I am left with a single thing that I truly want, something I have never wanted or needed before. I crave nothing more or less than her physical contact. The small motion of her thumb against my temple is soothing but my skin crawls with the need to feel her along the length of me. "Would you…" My own body cuts off the request, wondering exactly how someone asks for such a thing.

"What?" She prods.

"Can you just hold me?" I answer after a lengthy pause, unable to put any other voice to the words. My lip is unconsciously pulled between my teeth waiting for a biting comment or a rebuttal.

She smiles so brightly that it halts the tears leaking from her eyes, slowly she presses her lips to my temple and very carefully clambers over my prone body. Her arm snakes loosely across my hip and tightens around my midsection so her chest rests fully against my back. "Try to get some sleep." She whispers.

I know the pain in my skull with prevent me from such an action, but she is unable to see my features from her position. Shear exhaustion prevents me from wanting to move from this comfortable embrace so I settle in, focusing my attention to the steady thumping of her heart until all else falls away from my conscious mind.


	19. Chapter 19: Animal Within

Chapter 19

Hours pass with Hermione curled up along my back, her even breaths and the steady drumming of her heart enough to convince me that she had slipped into Morpheus' realm not long after having laid down on the comfortable mattress. Her warm presence, a constant soothing influence along my skin, yet I am unable to find my own slumber past the throbbing in my head and the heat of her body against my flesh.

My limbs, unused to spending such lengths of time inactive have gradually begun to ache. The steady throbbing running along my side and has for some time now urged me to shift from my position and work my muscles to provide relief. An almost logistical nightmare with a woman wrapped to tightly along my back.

As if reading my thoughts, Hermione grumbles incoherently in her sleep and tightens her grip on my midsection, nuzzling her face lightly against my shoulder blades. Reminding me of how physically close we are and yet how comfortable I feel in her embrace. On oddity that I still cannot puzzle out. I am completely unable to find sleep within her arms; her heat and the suffocating feeling settling over my chest are still very much present. I may stay in her bed every night, lay next to her and find a fitful rest, so long as we do not touch. However when sleep is not what I seek her arms around me are a heavy comfort. Pulling me down to a level of relaxation I didn't think could be achievable without dropping into the land of dreams.

The ache, which has settled into, my muscles dictating my actions I slowly drag my eyes open into slits, already anticipating the blinding light that will filter through between my eyelids. I blink a few time to dispel the flash of white in my vision, my eyes quickly becoming accustomed to the dimmed room that is still to intense for my senses. I try to shift my position while still captured in the soothing hold, to no avail. I simply must rise and hope that enough time has past that my knees might support my weight. So after a deep breath I reach down to my belly and grasp Hermione's wrist between my fingers, resting the limb down against the bed when I have shifted out of the way.

I slowly push my legs off the side of the bed and gather my limbs so I am able to pull myself up to site on its edge. Instantly dropping my eyes into the open palm of my hands as a deep feeling of nausea clambers up my throat. I have been almost religiously listening to the steady thump of Hermione's heart. Only letting my sense focus on that single noise, that one rhythm and my movement, however slight broke that concentration. Inadvertently opening my mind up to all the other stimuli to be found, the constant wrapping of the wind against the glass window, the distant murmur of chatter, the intense sent of Hermione all around me in this enclosed space. Finding a small degree of comfort in the later I draw breath through my nostrils. Just breathing, in and out as slowly as I dare, focusing on her sent intently. Letting it wrap around my mind as her body had only moments earlier, slowly letting each of the tiny noises invading my ears slip away to the back of my mind.

Shakily I push myself to my feet and slowly hobble across the room to push against the door to Hermione's adjoining bathroom. Once inside I close the door, the click of the lock echoing around the tiled room and my eyes close as I flinch against the sound. With my own breaths now heavy in my ears as I search the room with all of my senses, looking for something, anything to focus on, needed to draw my attention away from my shuddering muscles.

Two blind steps forward and my hands land on either side of the cold porcelain sink, fingers and thumbs gripping the unyielding martial, swallowing hard as my stomach clambers up my throat. Trying not to think, not to feel, just breathing trying to take every moment one shuddering breath at a time. After several long moments I have enough control over my own skin to drag my eyelids open, glaring at the seemingly bottomless drain before lifting my gaze to the mirror on the wall.

After the days event I had hardly expected to see a perfect representation of myself on the reflective surface. Outwardly I show little more of a reaction than a clench of my jaw, hiding my thoughts behind the mask of indifference even when in complete privacy. The habits of my formative years pushing through to disguise the pain throbbing throughout my skull, shielding the sight even from my own eyes.

Dropping my gaze again I press the plug into the drain the turn the cold tap, watching as the water slowly fills the sink. Cupping my hand under the spray letting gather water and press the cool liquid to my throbbing eyes, hoping that it might sooth the burning sensation that has settled behind them. After shaking off my hand of the excess fluid I once again bring my gaze to my reflection. Deep veins of red shooting across the whites of my eyes, made more prominent by the heavy dark lines beneath them. Reach to my face I slowly pull at the skin below my eye to better appraised my appearance. Noticing something in my blue irises, leaning over the sink to get a closer look, only for the fleeting sight to scurry away before it can be seen. Making me wonder if I had seen in it the first place. With a deep sigh I shut off the tap and bring another two handfuls of cool refreshing water to my face and pushing it over the back of my neck.

Resting my hands heavily against the sides of the sink and just listening to the droplets of water as they gather at my nose and chin to drip into the pool below. Feeling my senses weaver, taking in more information that I know how to handle, every single sound and sent demanding my attention and all I can do if focus my thoughts on those small droplets of water.

A single droplet of warmth leaks from behind my closed eyes, blazing a trail along my cold skin, only to fall from the base of my chin to join it's bothers and cool on contact. "I don't think I can do this." I manage to whisper to myself. The small, simple admission of defect sagging my shoulders almost instantly, such words pressing against me so I might buckle under their weight.

'You will become accustomed to this in time.'

My eyes snap open tuning on the spot to rest the small of my back against the ceramic edge. With every movement in my surroundings noticed in some form by the amplified senses I have developed, how is it possible for someone to have snuck up on me and hear my small private confession? Even with a frantic search I find no one who could have spoke, only an empty room and a closed door greet my gaze. Yet I heard a voice, as clear as crystal. My teeth grit together tightly, restraining myself from calling out into the small empty room. With my improved senses it could have been anyone, the voice not having needed to pitch down to a low whisper. It could have been said three floors down and I might have still herd. Words were spoken that I needed to hear nothing more.

With a shake of my head I turn back to the sink, running more of the liquid across my stinging eyes.

'Why would you ignore my presence so?'

For just a moment my fright makes me forget how to breathe. Listening for any sigh that there is another in the room. I force air into my lungs, counting out three breaths, reminding my body how much it craves the oxygen in each gasp. "Who's there?" I ask immediately having to flinch against the sound of my own voice as it echoes off the tiles.

'You forget my name so readily human?' Without knowing it my eyes shoot back to my refection. That voice, I recognise that voice. I search my own eyes, my cheekbones, pulling my upper lip over my teeth hunting for any sign that the beast within me will raise its ugly head. As I pull back my hair to double check the size and shape of my ears I feel it. I can feel the wolf's curiosity towards my frenzied actions, detached from my own emotions but still emanating from within my skin. 'What, exactly are you doing?' it asks a moment later, the sound failing to echo of the smooth walls.

For a moment I just stare at my reflection. Only to be met with my own fear and confusion etched across my face. Not quite believing what I'm hearing, not really wanting to admit to myself that the primal animal inside of me can be talking to me a second time, most bizarrely with such a civil tongue. "Ammy?" I ask. Not having the presence of mind to remember the full name given by the creature over the past few hours.

'I would much prefer Amaterasu.' It snaps and I can almost taste how irate it had become with the small word.

Feeling chastised I avert my eyes from my own reflection and after frowning at my own actions mutter. "Sorry." Somehow under my skin I can sense that it is pacified with the small apology and lapses into silence, appearing to wait for me to begin. My tongue reaches forward to touch my upper lip as I think. A thousand questions run through my mind, more than once a query as to the sate of my own sanity. "Who are you?" I quietly ask.

A moment of consideration runs through her and I feel it pressing against my bones for a moment. 'My name is Amaterasu, more than that I feel it would be unwise to divulge.'

For the second time today I feel anger towards this beast and find myself uncaring of it's destructive force. "You feel it unwise?" I voice raises in my rage and my gaze returns to my own eyes, watching my own anger burning within my irises. My voice echoes around the room, pressing against my senses but I am too focused, too driven to feel the pain that it must provoke in my skull. "You evade my life, take up residence in my mind and you feel it unwise to tell me why?"

She remains calm, her voice neutral as she speaks from within my head. 'A separate question is it not? Even so the answer to both you are unready to hear.'

Gritting my teeth I try to hold my temper. Intuitively knowing that a second outburst will do more harm than good with this creature. "Ready?" I ask, taking a second to clench my jaw. "Like I was ready for this…" I stop not quite knowing how to vocalise the new state of my senses. "This thing you did to me."

'As I stated before, this was to be expected. The gifts bestowed upon you…'

She is quickly cut of by my voice echoing around the room. "Gifts?" For a moment the only sounds around me are my own breaths as I struggle with my own irritation. "You say that like I wanted this."

'My presence has merely altered your perception of the world around you.'

"At what cost?" I ask scrubbing my hands over my face. "I've got so much stuff going through my head that it's almost unbearable to be in the same room as people."

'That is unfortunate.' She says with an air of disinterest surrounding her voice. 'Yet I cannot help but notice you chose to remain with your mate.'

"My what?" I bite back angrily.

'The girl.'

Immediately the short fuse on my temper is lit and burnt out. "If you so much as touch her…" My threat trails off, knowing that I will be unable to hurt this creature without causing significant harm to myself. Knowing that my past efforts to contain the beast, even only on nights of the full moon have proved ineffective. Why could I possibly threaten that would hold any sort of significance to the animal held within my skin and as of now running through my mind?

The cool ripple of amusement runs down my spine to indicate she has had the same thought as I. 'You'll, what exactly?' Another wave of enjoyment and she relents. 'Fear not human, it is not my intention to harm you or your mate.'

"Then what is?" I ask, my alarm only reducing a fraction at her words. I feel the wolf inside my head smile, having no intention to answer me and outside the room I hear Hermione stir, the bed creaking as she shifts her weight. I turn my head to gaze at the thin wooden door and then back to the mirror on the wall. "You wont hurt her?"

'You have my word.'

Without any option but to trust her I nod, a silent acceptance as I hope that I will be able to feel any violent intention before it is unleashed, as I had been able to feel her amusement only a few moments ago.

Closing my eyes in defeat I run a towel over my face and press it to the back of my neck as I reach for the door. Slowly pulling it open as to not startle the gradually wakening figure on the bed. Her sleepy eyes land on me in an instant and I can see the concern shining brightly within them even amongst the dim light of the retreating sun from below the closed curtains. "Hi." She remembers to lower her voice and barely breathes the small word. I let the side of my lips lift in a small smile of which I am unsure if she is able to see. "Are you feeling better?"

I frown at her question. The intense pounding in my head almost forgotten during my confrontation with Ammy only moments ago hits the back of my eyes with a vengeance and I have to close them against the sudden onslaught. "A little." I answer honestly; noting that at the very least my limbs are no longer twitching at a maddening rate and threatening to throw my whole body in the spasms.

She takes a breath and quickly rises from the bed, padding across her rug to take a closer look at my features. Her palm reaching up to run along my cheek and she blinks back the lasting effect of sleep from her eyes. "You look excused." She says as her thumb gently runs a trail under my eye to note the deep shadows she must be able to see from this distance. "Have you slept at all?" I shake my head indicating that I haven't, the closeness of her body and the throbbing in my skull preventing me from falling into any sort of slumber. A small smile runs across her face. "Am I just breathing to loud?"

"No." I answer, noticing her attempt at humour but needed to dispel any such fears before they start. "If anything it keeps me grounded, gives me something to listen to." My hands reach up to press against her upper arms hoping the contact will be at least a little comforting. "Besides, I can hardly ask you to stop breathing on my account."

"We could sleep separately." She starts having seen something in my face that I had not planned to be shown openly. "The ground floor would be to noisy for you… I could."

"This is your room." I cut her off. "And I'm brewing a fish potion. Remember." I let my eyes lose focus for a moment having uncharacteristically forgotten one of my own mental notes. "I should really attend to that."

Something akin to anger spreads across my shoulder blades only moments before I hear my wolf's voice in my ear. 'And yet you still seek to contain me.'

I feel myself flinch against the sudden harshly spoken words spreading through my consciousness, remembering the fleeting sight of her in my eyes I clamp them closed, needing to shut Hermione out of this, needed her to think that my amplified senses is all that I had walked away with, needed her to remain oblivious to the madness happening within my skin.

A moment later Hermione's other hand presses against my cheek holding my head still so she can drag my gaze to hers. "I'll go. What needs doing?" Her voice is laced thinly with concern and I can only hope that she assumes I had heard or smelt something that proved to be to much for my fragile form.

The growl in Ammy's voice has me stop short. 'A fool's errand.'

There are two things I can do now. Tell her Hermione she needs to add three ingredients and lower the brew to a simmer. Or give her instructions to sabotage the whole thing. Hopefully provoking some sort of trust, or even striking a barging with the animal inside of me. My attempts to subdue her on the full moon are clearly causing her some form of distress, weather physical or not it doesn't matter. Distress is certainly something I am able to use to my own advantage. Finally having enough wits about me to think clearly I make the easy decision. "Douse the flame. Let it rest."

"Sounds easy enough." She pauses and I begin to count her heartbeats, finding a large degree of comfort in the rhythmic thump against her breastplate. "Did you even eat breakfast this morning?" My tightly clenched jaw beneath her fingers is her only answer. I hear her breathing change and even notice I can her the tightening of her skin as she smiles, knowing my eating habits to be unorthodox at best. "I'll bring you something up. Just try and get some rest."

"I'll try." I answer, missing the warmth of her hands and they leave my cheeks reaching for her robes.

Soon she it out of the door and I listen intently to her retreating footsteps. Not daring to breathe a word until she is out of even my rage of hearing. Keeping my eyes firmly closed so I am unable to become destarected by the sight around me I listen to the change in both pitch and rhythm as she begins to descend a flight of stairs, able to pick out her specific pair shoes against the stone floor among the chaotic noises of the castle on a Saturday afternoon. After she is safely out of earshot I turn my attention inward, paying attention to the beast within me. "Is it worth trying to contain you?"

My question provokes a curious feeling to run along my spine as she considers my words. 'This attempt will fail. I assure you.'

"Of that I'm certain." I say to the empty room. Turning Hermione's chair so I am able to take a seat and drop my aching head into my open hands. "Because I just instructed Hermione to destroy it."

'You lied to her.' I am unsure if I can hear the faint air of amazement or disappointment as she speaks. 'With such ease.'

"She can see right through my lies." I say smiling at the concept, the only person in my life to look through me with as much ease as a pain of glass. "I only mislead her."

'Which begs the question…" Her words lased with cold suspicion. 'Why would you do such a thing?'

Her suspicion is well founded as I swallow back the pain I feel and sit back in my chair. "Because, I want to make a deal." I feel her interest peak and force the smile to say away from my face, not knowing is she can feel the changes in my features. "These potions, these attempts to subdue you. They clearly cause you some pain."

'That is true. Although it does make me wonder how you knew.'

"I have my ways." I say trying to remain vague, happy that she is not privy to my inner thoughts. "You calm down on a full moon. You curl up and go to sleep like you're supposed to. I'll stop brewing them. I'll stop trying."

'And what of that room.' Another growl accompanies her words. The dark, dank space afforded to me deep in the catacombs of the castle is something that even I hold a deep feeling of dread for each month.

"I can't do anything about that." Grated that would have been a much bigger bargaining chip but with Umbridge in control of the school, requested her to change the appointed place for my transformations borders on impossible.

A small sound of irritation can be heard, the feeling strange when echoing inside of your own skull. 'Then you simply haven't offered me enough.'

My frustration shows on my face in the form of a sneer and I barite myself for letting it slip through my defences. I detest not holding all of the advantages in these sorts of negotiations. "Then what can I give you?" I say, keeping the sight of defeat firmly out of my voice.

'I offer you a choice. Once a month I am free the roam in our other form, while in your human form I remain out of your conscious mind as it appears you so desire.' I feel a long sigh escape my lungs and drop my still stinging eyes into my palm. I would love nothing more than what she offers but I am unable to give her what she wants. 'Alternatively. You cease your attempts to restrain me and allow me to see the world through your eyes.'

"One I can't live up to and the other I have no idea how to stop." I muse aloud; beaten at my own game, if I weren't so enraged I'd applaud. "You see what I see, just don't expect me to talk to you in public."

'Then I believe human, we will be able to reach a compromise.'


	20. Chapter 20: Practice Makes Perfect

Chapter 20

As morning broke the next day so did my slumber. My body coming alive all at once, eyes snapping open and every heightened sense reaching out into my surroundings. It takes the harsh sound of a distant snore for me to realise what is happening, what I am unconsciously doing. Screwing my tightly eyes shut until I hear the rumble of thunder echoing inside my head and resting my hand lightly over my temple I seek out that one constant I know will be at my side, that soft thudding I know will calm me and keep the unknown sounds of the castle at bay. Through the chaos I find it, that steady rhythm and grasp onto it. Letting it fill my mind and pushing every other stimulus away until I no longer notice it's presence.

After counting three of my own shaky breaths and repeatedly telling myself that this is under my control I slowly let my eyes open into the dim room. Watching the thin rays of light spread bellow the drawn curtains as the sun breaks over the horizon, inexplicably feeling the change in time in the pit of my belly. Frowning at the odd sensation I don't think twice about pushing myself up into a sitting position off the side of the bed, happy that I am able to keep myself focused on Hermione's steady heart beat as I move. I know I have to get used to all of these sensations and it would be of benefit if I could do such a thing by tomorrow morning when I have to walk back into the real world and face my lessons once again.

Slowly as not to over exert myself I push against the mattress and rise to my feet, my stance does not waver and I let a small smile glide across my feature at the small triumph, shifting my weight from one foot to the other to test the limitations on both of my knees which yesterday were almost unable to bear my weight. After I am happy that the joints will hold I cautiously step forward.

The pounding behind my eyes this morning, although still present is noticeably dulled after my slumber and keeping my focus on Hermione's steady heart beats prevent it from escalating, at least for the moment. After noting the conspicuous feeling of amusement, slithering its way along my spine I cock my head to the side. I know the emotion belongs to the animal within me so conclude that she must be watching my movements from behind my eyes and has chosen to remain silent. I make a conscious effort not to draw attention to this fact. If she simply wishes to observe those around me in silence I will happily endure her emotions running along side my own. Although I find it foolhardy to expect her to be a quiet presence for the reminder of my lifetime but one can live and hope.

Trying my best to shake the beast's presence from my mind I make my way to the small adjacent bathroom and immediately turn on the shower, resolved to wash away all evidence of the pain I endured yesterday and start a fresh.

I find myself scheming the moment the water hits my crown. This strange new aspect to my condition was completely unexpected and was never something I had planned for; though now it is present it is something that must be addressed. I simply cannot spend the rest of my school life locked in the northern tower and avoid the rest of the population. The thought is immediately discarded from my mind with a growl at the back of my throat. I refuse to appear so weak, even to my own eyes. This new challenge will be accepted and beaten just like its predecessors.

After many minuets of discarding possible ways to overcome this new development I resolve myself to the fact that there is only one true option available to me without any outside interference. Practice. Starting right now.

Quickly I exit the shower, swiftly drying and dressing with a new determination setting deep into my bones. I take a book from the side and stop only once at the open door to run my eyes over Hermione's sleeping form. Briefly considering staying in the sanctity this room has to offer, then quickly shaking my head at the notion, leaving the room as quickly and quietly as possible. I cannot alow my own body to beat me in such a way.

With the heavy tome under my arm I make my way down to the ground floor, keeping my senses on my own echoing footsteps and I walk through the deserted corridors and eventually make my way into the Great Hall. As I had suspected at such an early hour the room is deserted, save the lonely frail looking figure of Filch sat at the staff table, his cat perched on his shoulder with her claws digging into her robes to support her precarious perch. His eyes land on me and even from this distance I can see the look of repugnance in his eyes, though I can hardly take the look to heart, he makes no secret of the distain he holds for the children of this school. The looks he casts my way is to show his distress at having his breakfast interrupted when he has taken it so early as to avoid the student body.

So while carefully casting my eyes down to the ground I quietly make my way to the Gryffindor house table and take a seat. Casting one look at the food laid out on offer and feel my stomach churn at the mere through of anything inside of it. Upon resting the heavy book on the tabletop the crisp pages fall open to my eyes. Already the distant sounds of others stirring in their beds meet my ears. How far away they are I have no way of knowing, all that I am certain of is the castle is starting to come alive and I have strategically placed myself in the middle of it. Slowly letting myself become exposed as students file in for their morning meal.

Trying to lose myself in the book and ignore all the sights and smells around me I hunch over and do not even glace up when the earliest of risers make their way into the hall and Filch quickly leaves so he has no need to be in our presence.

All to quickly the room begins to fill. Where previously I only had the need to ignore the smell of each meal laid out I am now confronted with the conversations. All of them laughing or grumbling and I can hear every word. At first it was so easy to pick out the different conversations, discarding them one by one so I can focus on the printed word in front of me. Soon the sounds become too much. Still I am able to hear every uttered syllable but they overlap and meld together. Becoming incoherent and insuppressible, stinging hits the back of my eyes with such fury that I am forced to close them against the wave of agony that flows through me.

Prying my eyes open I take a glance at my watch. Half an hour. If I can endure this for half an hour this whole experiment will not have been in vain. Setting my shoulders in a grim determination and bunching my hand into a fist against my thigh, hidden from prying eyes beneath the table, I rest my eyes back into the pages in front of me. Hardly allowing myself to even blink so I cannot lose this concentration for even a moment.

Without warning a hand lands on my shoulder and I flinch so violently from the unexpected contact that I press heavily against the book, sliding it across the polished wooden table, clanging cutlery together. The high-pitched sound drowns out the shallow voices for only a moment before they return again. My concentration on the words broken and I am hit with the unrelenting tide of chatter once more.

Feeling the muscles along my shoulders begin to shake I turn abruptly and find the concerned green eyes of Ginny Weasley looking back at me. "Couldn't you hear me?" I watch her lips as she speaks, able to pick out her voice against the din with the movement.

"I wasn't listening." I reply, hearing the shudder running through my own voice.

She glances up and down the long table before dropping down into the seat next to me. "You should be somewhere more quiet." She lowers her voice to a whisper, I presume because she thinks by adding any further noise to the oppressing orchestra around me will make all the difference.

"No." I answer quickly. Dropping my forehead into my hand and tightly curling my fingers into my hair, forcing my eyes back to the book once more and trying to gain the level on concentration I had once achieved.

"Jamie." She pauses for a moment seeming to choose her words. "It's really loud in here."

"I am acutely aware of this." I answer turning the page in my book, trying to suppress the irate tone to my voice.

"Damn it. You were having seizures yesterday." She says with some urgency, as if somehow I might have forgotten. "Please, I'm sure what ever point you were trying to make you've already done it."

I allow a smile to grace my lips. Is this something I do often? Glancing down at my watch once more I find that I am close to my goal. Seven more minuets, that is all that I must tolerate. I tell her this figure and even look at her in unrest as I do so. She may beg and plead all she wants but I refuse to leave this table until I have proven to myself that this feat is achievable.

"Seven minuets?" She asks with a deep frown over her forehead. "Are you serious?"

"It's all I ask." She shakes her head but I can see behind her eyes that she is beginning to cave, already having heard of my stubborn streak. She sighs slowly and looks down at her own watch so she is able to time my suffering for herself.

My eyes return to the book in front of me, the words beginning to meld together in my vision, moving up and down as my eyes begins to twitch. Not here, not when I am so close.

Turning back to the redhead to see she still has a concerned look on her face, chewing on her bottom lip as she quickly moves her eyes first from her watch then around the gathering student body.

Reaching out I press my fingers against her neck and ignore the strange look she throws my way. In seconds I have found her rapidly beating heart and hunt out the tiny sound amongst all the others the cavernous room has to offer. Closing my eyes when I find it. It is the only thing so far that I have found to be truly constant, that rapid push of blood through artery walls. It is always there and although the rhythm may change the sound itself does not.

I welcome the now familiar sound into my senses. Grasping it and holding it, pushing everything else away, soon I am able to remove my fingers from the younger girl's skin, her heartbeat still filling my ears and keeping me grounded. The only indication of exactly how long I have sat there, trying to block out the world is when her hand lands on my shoulder and she whispers close to me. "Times up. Lets go."

I allow her to pull me to my feet but wrench my arm away from her as we begin to walk. I am not an invalid, I managed to walk in to this room and I swear by any of my Gods I can call upon by name that I will walk out of it. Determined not to run I set a fast pace, glad that even though my lower limbs are beginning to shake they show no signs of collapsing beneath me from the strain. Quickly I pass through the threshold from the Great Hall and into the Entrance Hall. Although the thick stonewalls do dull the sounds of so many voices it is not nearly enough to stop the constant pounding in my head.

Unsure as to why, I forgo the steps into the northern tower and ignore the straggled objection from the youngest Weasley at the action. My sights are set on the main entrance, glaring into the thick wood as though it hold all the answer. Wrenching it open and stepping outside I find myself taking a lung full off the open air. Only fully recognising the deep feeling of claustrophobia when it lifts from my shoulders.

The muscles along my back tense against the biting wind but cease all other movement, any other trace of an impending seizure blown away in the breeze.

Feeling infinitely more comfortable in my own skin I move further into the breeze and away from the door, shifting myself away from Ginny's questioning gaze as I smell her making her approach on me. The huge oak door closes a moment later and after resting my palms against the outer stonewalls I turn my gaze in the other girl's direction.

Her shoes shuffle along the gravel and her arms come up to wrap around her torso to keep out the lasting winter chill in the air. "Do we have to be out here?" She asks after a moment.

"I didn't ask you to follow me." I reply calmly, under normal circumstances I would be angry for her intrusion but the sweet blessed relief flowing through me is so overwhelming that I cannot bring myself to chastise her on the matter.

"Yeah." She says sarcasm dripping from her tone. "After a performance like that I'm going to leave you on your own."

"I can take care of myself."

A sceptical eyebrow rises and with her tongue pushing against her canine she mutters a small "Uh-huh." Showing me her disbelief. After taking a few more strides over to me she leans back heavily on the unforgiving stonework, turning her head to cast her eyes across the landscape as she speaks. "Does being out here make you feel any better?"

I am struck dumb for a moment. Both at her show of genuine concern and the profound effect of being in the open air is having upon me. "Yes," Even the pain in my head is slowly starting to recede.

She lets out a slow sigh and rubs her hands with more vigour around her exposed upper arms, appearing to be too stubborn to retreat back into the castle and retrieve her robes. "What exactly were you trying to prove, going into the Great Hall. When you knew it was going to be that loud."

Turning on the spot to match her posture and running my fingers across my aching forehead I answer as simply as possible. "That is was possible." I answer honestly, wondering why the truthful words hit my tongue with such ease around the younger witch.

A snort of humourless laughter has my gaze darting to study her profile. "Idiot." She says and I find myself unsure, as to whether she is trying to insult me or not. "You were having seizures yesterday. You shouldn't have to deal with it so soon. Especially not on your own."

I teeth grind together painfully and after tuning my gaze away and swallowing a venomous retort I trust my own voice enough to repeat. "I can take care of myself." I spit through my clenching jaw.

"Yeah well you shouldn't have too." She turns towards me and sees the fire of my rage behind my eyes and feels completely undeterred at the sight of it. "I'm serious, you can always come and ask one of us for help. Or failing that you should be able to hide under your bed once in a while."

I feel myself frown, not quite grasping exactly what she is trying to say to me. "Such an action would be childish."

"Exactly." She says using those hand gestures I have been associating with her brother for weeks now. "We are children. We get to make mistakes or act on impulses or just crawl into bed and pretend the world doesn't exist any more."

I can do nothing but blink at her for a few moments. The simple suggestion of acting as a child during ones adolescences is baffling. For as long as I can remember I have been coached to attack every obstacle, every fear and every complication relentlessly until it can either be disregarded or no longer exists. Failure has never been an option to me and for that matter neither has procrastination. "I disagree."

Ginny snorts in amusement at my side pulling me from my memories. "Of course you do. You're a Slytherin, you'd disagree with me if I said the sky was blue."

Looking up to the heavens I bite my lip in mild amusement upon noticing the heavy cloud cover. "Today, it is decidedly grey."

Her smiling eyes are instantly upon me. "See what I mean?" We both fall into light easy laughter and I find myself wondering exactly when I became comfortable around this girl. Her lower lip catches between her teeth in thought. "You feel up to doing something impulsive?"

I don't like the look in her eyes, it screams of a mischief that I know I shouldn't involve myself in. "It may be something I need to think on."

A grin pulls so wide across her features as she leans towards me, catching my bent elbow in her grasp. "It wouldn't be impulsive then would it?"

I must concede, she does have a point. I let her pull me from my leaning post and curiosity overweighs any sort of misgivings I have as I fall into step at her side. "Where exactly are we going?"

"Now that. Would be a surprise." She says grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Even though her stride is much shorter than my own she still sets an impressive pace leading us off the gravel path and out onto the open field. "If you've planned it, this is no longer impulsive."

"Jamie just…" She halts her own speech and throws a frustrated look in my direction. "Just stop thinking so much." We step past the high goal posts at the edge of the Quidditch pitch and as we near the Gryffindor changing rooms she breaks into a light jog to pull ahead of me. Upon reaching the door she whispers the password, which carries strongly on the wind to my highly sensitive ears and I am able to each and every syllable. The old wooden door gives under her weight and she disappears into the darkness.

I approach the doorway at a slow walk, unwilling to encroach on the personal space of a rival team even if I am no longer able to play. "Ginny." I call out and hear my own voice echo back towards me from the hollow room.

With a flash of bright orange and a wide grin she appears back in the doorway a Quaffle held between her hands, which she passes to me. Without having to think I have pulled my hands from my pockets and flattened my palms around the leather surface. "Wanna play?" She asks, watching me adjust and spin the ball slowly in my hands.

It feels like an old friend I hadn't even realised I had lost. Just holding this spherical, hollow leather in my hands is enough to remember the exhilaration of being atop a broom. "I can't." I answer, dragging myself back to reality and tossing the red ball back into Ginny's hands. "I'm banned."

She shrugs once to show her indifference. "Umbridge said you couldn't play Quidditch. She didn't say you couldn't toss a ball around with a friend."

Her last word has me cocking me head in thought. She describes herself as my friend. Not acquaintance or useful contact. Not even someone she must tolerate due to association with Hermione. It is not only the word she used which puzzles me but also the ease in which it was said. I can see no tells within her body language to indicate she might be lying and I am unable to detect any sort of ulterior motive for it's use. Suddenly I am struck with the notion that she might be completely serious and that alone frightens me.

"What?" She asks and for the first time in my life I have no idea what is shown on my face. How much she is able to see and interpret of my thoughts.

Quickly I wipe my facial expression clean, hiding behind my comfortable mask of apathy. "Nothing." I answer, careful not to answer too quickly to arouse suspicion then drawing the conversation away from whatever she may have been thinking. "My broom was confiscated."

Her eyebrows draw together heavily over her green irises for a fleeting moment over the hasty change in subject, before she shakes away her curiosity. "Good thing Ron's wasn't." She says this reaching back into the dimly lit room and throws the broom into my hands.

The wooden shaft sings in my grasp and I long to hear the roaring wind pressing against my ears. Every excuse I can formulate feels inadequate even within the confines of my own mind. The freedom I feel so high above the ground is a feeling I have been pining for since the day it was removed from me. Now here I stand with the means to obtain it once more. Any disagreement dies the instant it hits my tongue and slowly I feel a devious smile spread it's way across my face, mirroring that of my redheaded companion. "Think you can keep up?"

She grins wide at the barefaced challenge and before she can react I have turned on the slippery grass and bolted from the doorway. Mounting my broom mid stride and kicking off into the sky, quickly flattening my body against the shaft to accelerate towards the heavens.

I revel in the wind as it blasts past my ears, in no way too overbearing for my accelerate senses; reinforcing the sense of openness and freedom the outdoors is coming to afford me. After I climb at least seventy feet into the air I push lightly against the brooms shaft to level out so I am able to hover in the air and await her arrival. I am not kept waiting long.

She pulls on the shaft her of broom as she nears so she pulls alongside, her breath already bursting from her lungs in rapid pants. The flash of her white teeth shows me her glee as she stabs her extended index finger in my direction. "Now that's the spirit." She tosses me the Quaffle from her other hand and it lands lightly in my palm.

I dip the handle of my broom to push it into a dive, throwing the red ball high above my head into Ginny's waiting hands as she fly's past and with that simple motion the game begins.

We dip and climb, weave and bob all along the deserted pitch and back again. Throwing the Quaffle between us in a fluidity of motion, each somehow anticipating where the other will be even as our speed and direction vary drastically. Passing the ball between the high goal hoops and forcing each other into drastic dives. The winds beating against my face and assaulting my ears, watching the ground as it rapidly comes up to meet me only to pull out of the dive at the last moment, all contribute to the wide grin I am unable to remove from my features and the brisk best of my heart in my chest.

All to soon she is pulling up along side; sweat plastering her hair to her forehead and she pants to catch her breath. "You're not half bad for a Slytherin." She comments, softly throwing the ball so it arches in the air and falls into my waiting grasp.

Turning my hand to throw the ball into a spin on my middle finger I refrain from brining her house into the discussion, even though it is tempting. "You're not half bad for a Seeker."

She bunches her shoulders into a shrug, taking her grasp completely from the handle to show her competence upon the broom. "There weren't any other positions open."

I laugh at her comment, putting some pressure against the base of the ball to throw it lightly into the air then beating it with the side of my fist in her direction. She plucks it out of the air, the grin never leaving her features. "We should properly head back in." I say with no small amount of regret.

Slowly we make out way back to the ground and I hand over her brother's broom as we reach the door still sitting ajar. She disappeared into the dim room for only a moment before she remerges, brushing her hands together to wipe away any lasting grime and dust.

I watch as she closes the door firmly behind her and pushes her weight against it to test the wards have fallen into place. "Thank you." I say, trying not to react to the shocked expression on her face from my sincerity. I have no idea as to exactly how long we spent up in the air but my whole being feels much lighter for the experience. Worries and pains appearing to have been blown away in the rapid winds, as we rushed from one end of the field to the other.

She shakes the shock from between her ears and a grin fixes itself to her features. "Don't mention it." slowly her fisted hands find their way to her pockets and her shoulders hunch over as they begin to shiver, the sweat paltering her robes to along her back putting a chill against her skin. "So any plans this afternoon?"

Instantly I'm suspicious. My narrowing eyes are testament to that. "Why?"

She shrugs, turning to being a slow walk back towards the castle doors. "It's cold. If I can't trust you on your own can we at least go inside?"

"You don't have to stay with me." I reply, already noticing the absence of pain running through my skull. Hopefully it will be enough for me to keep my concentration while inside the castle walls. Then after a few heartbeats I become aware that her words do not set me on edge as they normally would. I've made no secret of the fact that I have always been a solitary being, many who have tried to infiltrate my personal space have been met with rebuttal and often scolding words. Yet I find myself walking next to this girl, who is so vastly different to me in so many ways, feeling an odd sensation in my chest that she wishes to stay within my presence for no other reason that she feels that I am in need of it. "I'd like the company though." I say in a low voice when I am met with nothing but her silence.

"Good." She has a smile on her face that indicates that she wasn't about to give me any choice in that matter. "So… How about a game of Wizards chess?"

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It quickly becomes apparent to me that the youngest Weasley lives very much in the here and now. Her mind not straying any further into the future, than what can entertain her in some way for the next few seconds. Completely disregarding study and what kind of effect a better level of education will have upon her prospects. Something I assume that she deems unimportant at this time in her life. Throughout the day we have conversed at length and have touched on the subject but she has very little to say on the matter.

After a brisk walk around the castle hallways and a quick shower for both of us to wash away our exertions on the Quidditch pitch she did managed to provoke me into a game of chess. Under the condition that we played within the Great Hall so I can simultaneously force my brain to become accustomed to the high level of stimuli that it must now endure. We had butted heads on that particular matter for quite some time until I pointed out how quite the Hall would be at this hour of the day and she had thrown her arms up in defeat muttering something about my stubbornness.

"Knight to E3." I command the board watching as the small ebony piece slides across the board rearing up to bash it's front hooves against the top of the Pawn occupying the space I had directed it to, breaking the ivory into three pieces. "Check."

"Oh, you bitch." She comments lightly and I ignore the insult having learned it is only her manor of expressing herself, something of which I am still getting used to. "You've got my Queen again."

Calmly I retrieve the broken piece from the board and set it to once side then rest my elbow against the tabletop to await her move. She is referring to the fact that she must remove her King from being threatened by my Knight but in doing so will leave her Queen open to attack. It is the most important piece on the board but with her two Rooks still in play she will be able to compensate. A fact she doesn't want to have to admit as her eyes dart over the pieces for a way to stay in the game and still keep her Queen.

She leans back presumably to be able to look at the state of pay from a different angle and snatches up her goblet of pumpkin juice as her forehead creases into a frown. "How do you do that?"

I also lean back; apparently she is trying to postpone her inevitable move for as long as possible. "You're predictable."

The easy conversation and the game itself is keeping my wild senses in check and slowly they are becoming to come under my control, so I am able to play this game to my fullest potential. The frustration in Ginny over this is easy to see as she huffs at my statement. "You're predicting my moves?" She asks with a slight amount of disbelief laced through her voice. Her eyebrows rising as I nod. "You're good at that aren't you? Guessing what people will do."

"We're no longer talking about chess are we?" I ask, my mind casting back to that day by the black lake.

"You did it with Malfoy." She says confirming that she had been thinking of the same incident and the incline in her voice indicates that she is looking for more information on the whole ordeal and how I was able to forecast the outcome of the confrontation so accurately.

I sigh lightly at the change in conversation, not wanting my thoughts to appear on my face. In truth this is a side of myself that I had hoped to remain an unexplored area by all of those I am beginning to surround myself with. Never would I have though that my manipulative talents would come up in conversation during an innocent game of wizard chess, something that in hindsight I should have seen coming, considering how devious you need to be to excel at this game. Although, I am cretin that this topic would have even been touched upon if I had been in the same position with almost anyone else in the school.

She is correct, I have spent many moons studying body language and strategic placement of both words and personal to effect outcomes of anything from a casual vote in the common room to openly hostile confrontations, for my own benefit. I am slowly leaning that the youngest of the Weasley clan is something of a wild card in that regard. Her mind working differently to anyone else I have ever had the pleasure to meet. I may be able to accurately stay at the very lest four moves ahead of her when the constricting rules of chess are brought into the mix but it is often very difficult to see the direction of the conversation with her before it is upon us.

It is both intriguing and frightening in equal degrees. For much of my life I have been able to interpret situations in minute detail and know what each person around me will do when confronted with them. Such foresight is a handy skill to have at your disposal when trying to remove yourself from circumstances, which may become hazardous.

I bring my eyes back to the redhead to find she is still looking at me expectantly. Still yet to make her move and appearing to be unwilling to accept my silence and carry on to another topic as so many others would do in her position.

"Draco's easy." I say, hoping that she will bring her attention back to the board, all she does it aim a raised eyebrow in my direction, looking to have lost all interest in our game. "It's not in his nature to take risks and he's no fool, he understands the dynamics of information and how to exploit it so some extent."

"So what you're trying to say is that you knew what he would do because he's clever."

"But no too clever." I add quickly, thinking back to that day in our first year when he had tried to use information he had gathered when he himself was breaking the rules, being out of bed out of hours, only to land himself in detention, with his eagerness to get others in trouble. I remember poking fun at the boy for days over his miscalculation something, of which he never allowed to happen again. "He constricts himself, using methods he's tried and tested before. Makes him much easier to read."

"But you knew he wasn't going to tell anyone. You were certain." Her deep green eyes focus on me in interest. "How could you possible know that?"

"I didn't. Not really." I answer with a shrug, after so many hours in the company of the other girl I have stopped questioning my honesty around her. "I took a calculated risk, you just wouldn't have gone along with it if you didn't think I was sure."

She shakes her head and her eyes drop back to the table between us. "I don't get it. King to E1." She says apparently already bored with the turn in conversation.

"On some levels I think I'm glad of that. Knight to D1." I command and smile in satisfaction as the small hours pounds it hooves against the white Queen. I have lost the piece for certain but it was well worth the sacrifice.

She throws me a mock scowl in her frustration. "King to D1. Why?"

I will miss that valiant Knight dearly but I can take comfort in the fact that this game will only last another three moves. "It's nice to be around honest people for once."

A single sent permeates the concentration I have had over the game and conversation and has my gaze turning to meet Hermione's as she cautiously makes her way over to us with a book held tightly to her chest in her crossed arms. The smile on her face twinkles in her eyes and she places the heavy tome on the table next to the board. "What have you two been up to?" she asks in a suspicious manor.

"Nothing." We answer simultaneously then both look towards each other. I can feel my face contorting into some form of mortification while the redhead across the table mealy grins.

One of her eyebrows raise and she fights hard against the smile threatening to break across her face. "Well, that doesn't sound suspicious at all."

Ginny very quickly plays the injured party with all the innocence of a dragon surrounded by broken china. "We were just playing wizards chess, minding our own business and all you can do is come in here and accuse us of something. Which we couldn't possibly have been doing sitting here so quietly" She frowns slightly bringing her eyes down on me. "It's you're move by the way." She says with some impatience in her voice.

"Indeed. Rook to B2." My gaze is draw skyward as Hermione's hand lands against my shoulder and I give her a questioning look.

The smile doesn't leave her face as she speaks. "You're looking a lot better."

"I feel it." I answer honestly. Without the constant pounding in her my head and even though I am able to feel my wolf's emotions at times she has remained a silent presence. Observing as she said she would from behind my eyes, it is an odd sensation but I am starting to feel a lot more like myself.

I continue to gaze up into those soulfully brown eyes, once again feeling lost within their depths and thankful that I am once again permitted to look upon her in such a way. The moment we share is in no way profound or life changing but I am still irritated when Ginny makes me break the eye contact with a murmur of "Oh bugger." Before she waves out across the table catching her King with the back of her hand so he falls onto the black and white tiles of the board, forfeiting the match to me. I frown slightly in exasperation having not had the pleasure of the final checkmate. She throws her hands up and leans back once more. "I'm never playing chess with you again."

"So I should suffer because you're a sore loser?" I ask only able to keep back my sniggers my letting my lips lift in a smirk.

"You said you could play." She points an accusing finger in my directions and I am beginning to think that untamed hand gestures run in the family. "You didn't say you were bloody good."

Hermione sighs at our antics, lowering herself into her seat and opening the dust covered book, quickly dropping her eyes to it and immersing herself in the printed word.

"Oh come on Weasley." I start trying to provoke her into another game; I freely admit that I had been enjoying the time spent at the board. It is difficult for me to find someone willing to play. "You won one game."

"Yeah, you let me win."

I raise my eyebrows in a show of innocence; of which I am sure cannot have looked in any way genuine. "Did I?"

Watching as doubt clouds her mind for a moment, already I know that she will play again if only to prove to herself that her one win was not a fluke. "Oh," She says taking her wand from the tabletop, pointing the tip to the fallen pieces ready to repair them. "It's so on."

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Dinner rolled around as the last dwindling rays of light clung to the horizon and at the constant urging of my two companions I was convinced to leave the hall after a very small bland meal, both of them becoming distressed at the thought of me exposed to so much so soon after the new development of my senses.

Hermione with one arm curled around her book and the fingers of her other hand laced tightly through mine, slowly begins to climb the stairs leading to the northern tower, bringing us closer to her room. "So." She pauses and throws a look up in my direction. "What have you been doing with Ginny all day?"

"This and that." I answer vaguely, knowing that she will disapprove of our brief fly around the Quidditch pitch for much of the early morning.

She makes a small grumble in the back of her throat but she is smiling at me so I assume that I will not be receiving a lecture over my secretive ways. "Just so long as you didn't do anything illegal."

"I almost get the feeling you don't trust me."

"You I trust, to some extent at least." She begins in a teasing voice. "Ginny though, has been spending far to much time with Fred and George."

"I see." I make a show of mulling this over before continuing our banter. "So you're frightened she'll rub off on me."

She laughs at this but makes no comment and we fall into very comfortable silence.

Her questions do bring up some things that are puzzling me. I have spent a great portion of the day with a girl I know very little of, with no agenda of my own and very little productivity came out of it. Even though I have to admit I have enjoyed my time with the gutter mouthed redhead and I cannot for the life of me think why. We have done nothing more than jest and play, there is no feeling of accomplishment but there is something else. Some thought or feeling that I can't put words to.

"Is something bothering you?" Hermione asks. Dragging me from my inner musing with a look of concern on her face.

I think to brush away her apprehension but realise I have been doing far too much of that over the past two days and there is a question that I must have answered. "Just something Ginny said."

"Oh." She says as a way of provoking a more detailed explanation.

"This morning she…" I pause for a moment and not for the first time since being invited into this small group feel out of my element. "She said I was her friend."

The confusion is easy to see on her face. "And this surprises you?" Her voice is curious as if she doesn't quite know where I am going with this revelation.

"She meant it." When she used the word she had not look at me intently, waiting for me to see some hidden meaning within its depths. It slipped out in passing giving me the notion that there had been genuine feeling behind it.

She pulls to a stop at her doorway and turns to gaze up at me. "You make it sound like you've never had friends before Jamie."

"I thought I had, at one time." I pause, examining not only the actions of the Gryffindors but also my own thoughts and feelings surrounding them. "I'm beginning to learn I may have been wrong."

Her fingers sneeze in mine for a moment before she loosens they're hold to whisper her password and push open the door. When she turns back towards me her smile looks almost sad. "Well. Looks like we can teach you a few things for once."


	21. Chapter 21: Term of Endearment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Warning: childishness is afoot.
> 
> And also some discussions on faith. With I know may offend some people so I'm going to address it here. I am decidedly not a religious person. But the act of belief is fascinating and beautiful and I really really wanted to explore it. Which is kinda why you've been getting so many Greek gods, also why Jamie has a religion that has been largely dead for almost two thousand years. I don't write this with the intention of offending anyone, everyone and I mean EVERYONE is entitled to their own belief system please proceed with an open mind. However if this does offend anyone please tell me why and I will address it.
> 
> I'm done now on with the show

Chapter 21

Movement across the mattress wakes me before I feel ready to rouse from my slumber. My eyes pulling open as a warm arm encircles my waist and tightens around my stomach, the unexpected touch making my body pull as tight as a bow string. It takes only a single breath to draw in Hermione's floral sent and my unease is calmed significantly. Her nose gently nuzzles through my hair and across the back of my neck and the incoherent sleepy mumbles she presses against my skin convince me forgo the urge to to remove her limb from my body and return to the realm of Morpheus.

Knowing that I have little chance of sleep when her body is pressed so close to mine I let myself settle against the mattress and enjoy the contact, warped in both her body and her sent.

After blinking away the lasting remains of sleep from my eyes I give myself a moment to reflect, yesterday proved to be insightful for a variety of reasons, finding that I am able to push my advanced senses into the back of my mind. Enduring the onslaught of stimulation, still hearing and seeing everything around me but able to block it from cognitive thought. Granted only with the introduction of a suitable distraction. It's plain to see that the trick to living with this new aspect of my affliction is to keep my mind busy in some way, something I have to say may begin to prove difficult with the confines of a lesson plan to contend with.

Not only that, my day spend with the youngest Weasley has highlighted something of which until now I have been blind to. Now knowing that I have found an unlikely friend in the younger redhead it has made me realise the shallowness of any of my previous relationships with my classmates. Whether that be the fault of those around me of my own I am unwilling to explore, even within the confines of my own mind. I can scarcely remember a time when I have spent time with another for no other reason than for the companionship. There was always something to be gained from any sort of company that I kept. Usually information that could later be used for my own ends or to raise my father's standing in the wizard community. Even the time I currently spend with Hermione is largely for my own benefit, both sexually and emotionally. Although such an arrangement is mutually beneficial for both parties involved it is not completely selfless.

This revelation does leave me a little out of my depth. How does one engage with another on such a level? For that matter how exactly is it that I have been able to surround myself with people who appear to find this sort of interaction so easy? There appears to be no thought processes between the group. Nothing hidden just beneath the surface even when they converse with me. They spend vast amounts of time in each others company simply because they enjoy doing so, an idea that while fascinating is also a sobering concept, if only because I realise that I am inept at such things.

Hermione shifts once more behind me, curling along my back and pushing her legs into the back of mine until she quite literally lies flush against me. It is a rare instance when she falls into such a deep sleep that she forgets her promise to keep her distance when we share a bed in this way. Before when this has happened I have been very prompt in pulling myself from her grasp and either rising to start my day or pushing her away from my frame so I am able to fall back to sleep. However on this morning I find myself lingering. Blinking back the lasting remains of sleep against the unlit room, even through the inky darkness being able to watch the lazy shadows of the trees outside as they blow in the gentle breeze.

I know this behaviour proves that something within me has changed in some small way, it isn't something I can pinpoint to a specific moment over the past months but something has happened, something so inept and trivial that I at the time I must have not noticed it but I can recognise that I am much more comfortable within my own skin than I have been for much of my life.

Feeling much bolder than usual I reach under the covers grasping Hermione's wrist so I am able to hold it above by body as I turn on the bed to face her, resting her arm back around me when I have shifted into position. A smile graces my face when I find I am able to make out her facial features, even through the inky darkness that has blanketed the room. Idly letting my fingertips graze along the planes of her face and marvelling at the soft shadows cast by her peacefully sleeping form.

Some indefinable feeling strikes the back of my mind without warning and I know without any shadow of doubt that the first rays of natural light are caressing the earth with their gentle glow. How I could possibility know such a thing when I can see no evidence of it, with even my very sensitive eyes and without any conscious thought as to the time, is something I must ponder later as I am struck with the completely selfish compulsion to rouse the sleeping woman from her deep sleep so I am able to share the spectacle with her.

I know that I should at the very least think twice about such an action but I cannot stop myself from leaning forward and ever so gently touching my lips to hers before softly calling her name. She grumbles in her sleep but otherwise does not respond so for a second time I touch my lips to hers, moving them against her unresponsive mouth, slowly trailing the feather-light caress along the skin of her cheek to softly whisper against her ear. "Hermione." I call, trying to sound like a siren pulling the sailors off course. "Hermione." I try again a little louder.

I only pull back from her when I hear a low groan emitting from the back of her throat at the interruption of her slumber, reaching out to stroke my thumb against the wrinkles made across her face by her irritated frown. Very slowly her eyes open under the light ministration and her tongue pushes against her lips to motion them. "Jamie?" her voice calls, groggy with the lasting effects of sleep.

"Morning." I do try and fail to keep the exited tone out of my voice.

She groans again and rolls onto her back so she is better able to push the heels of each of her palms deep into her eyes. "What time is it?"

"I don't know." I answer, remaining on my side trying to afford her some degree of personal space so she is able to come into awareness.

She takes a deep breath and drags her hands along her face. "It's still dark." She comments after a long pause.

"Very observant." Only the tiniest slither a guilt creeps into my mind as I watch her groan again and turn away from me, pulling the cover up and over her head in an attempt to fall back to sleep. "Hermione." Her only response to the mock warning tone in my voice is to pull her side of the blanket tighter around her crown. With a fare amount of manoeuvring I manage to slide my hand over the curve of her hip to pull her closer, able from this position to dip my nose under the quilt and press my lips against the nape of her neck.

She valiantly tries to brush off the light touch, bunching her shoulder in an effort to remove my lips from the only small patch of skin I am able to reach. "Go back to sleep." Her voice hits my ears clearly even while muffled by the thick fabric covering her mouth.

"Sun's coming up." I whisper against her skin, knowing that it will be enough to explain my state of alertness at this early hour.

"Then..."she pauses only long enough to try and wriggle from my grip. "Go and watch it or something."

Her movement shifts the blanket and I am able to rest my lips against the hollow directly behind her ear and whisper against her skin. "Come with me."

Instantly her struggles cease and she turns her head, forcing me up onto my elbow so she has room to breath. "You want me to watch the sunrise with you?" All trace of sleep leaves her voice as she speaks. All I am able to do is watch her watching me, searching for something in my expression. Whatever she finds must please her because she leans up and plants a single long kiss against my lips. When she leans back against her pillow her eyes are still hooded but the ghost of a smile can be found crossing her features. "Alright then."

I am unable to suppress the grin pulling against the side of my lips. I push away from her, coming to stand at the side of the double bed and reach my hand down in her direction to help bring her to her feet. Walking backwards I silently guide her to the wide window ledge and pull myself up onto in it. Without words we are both able to arrange ourselves on the horizontal plank of wood, my back rests against the stone arch pulling my knees up and spreading my thighs so she is able to comfortably sit between them, her back resting against my chest.

After taking the time to reach behind me and pull the curtain back around us to shield us from the rest of the room I settle in my seat, wrapping my arms lightly around the smaller frame in front of me. She shifts her position for several long moments and leans back to rest against me, her head leaning back against my shoulder.

"You've never asked me to watch the sunrise before." She comments and I can hear that she is trying to conceal the questioning tone from her voice.

This is odd behaviour of me but I am loath to question it at this time. Since I have been awoke by the first rays of light each and every morning for several months now I have taken to watching the sun slowly climb into the sky from behind the horizon. The true beauty of nature shown to us in all of it's glory through those several minutes at the start of each day. Until now I have never asked her to join me, never really felt the need to pull her from her fitful rest. This morning though the impulse was so strong and took me by such surprise that I simply acted. "Do you not think it's beautiful?"

"I didn't say that." Her shoulders shift against my chest and she brings her arms along my thighs to rest her palms against my bent knees. "It just always seamed like a private moment."

I feel the breath hitch in my throat as I pull back against the words which press against the back of my tongue aching to be freed. It takes me a moment to remember who I am talking to and knowing that she will not see this confession as a sign of weakness I let the words tumble forth. "My mother used to say that every day Apollo must guide his great blazing chariot across the sky, only to clamber into a small boat far to the west and sleep the night away as it carries him back to the east."

She makes a small noise in the back of her throat as she thinks about this small aspect of my unusual faith I have reviled to her. "How does his chariot get back?"

I shake my head at her logical enquiry. "Oddly I've never asked that question."

"I see." She falls into silence and I can feel that her attention is no longer on the natural wonder playing out before us. "Why don't you write to her and ask her?"

My body involuntarily tenses at her suggestion and quickly her hands make soothing circles across my knees. After a time I am able to unclench my jaw and swallow the lump in my throat and quietly answer. "I can't do that." My arms tighten around her, showing that I accept her silent apology.

I have to wonder when she saw it. The longing for my mother's acceptance, I was quite certain that I have kept that desire tightly concealed behind a façade of indifference to her persistent silent. Quite clearly I was wrong.

Her fingers grasp at my thighs to draw my attention. "When you watch the sunrise. Are you praying to Apollo?"

Highly grateful for the rapid subject change I latch onto it, uncaring if my beliefs will be met with with any sort of resistance. "No. I have no reason to pray to the sun god. It doesn't mean I can't worship him for the light he gives us though."

"That's... very insightful." She falls into soundless contemplation and the sun is almost completely viable over the tops of the trees before she begins to voice her thoughts. "If you don't pry to Apollo. Do you pry to other gods?"

The tone of her voice tells me that this line in conversation has pecked her interest but it is quite honestly a question that is difficult to answer. Slowly I shrug. "If you can call them prayers. I will swear by their names and often give thanks but very rarely ask them for anything." I rest my chin lightly against her hair wondering why such things interest her so much. "Don't you ever pray to your god?"

Her shoulders move against my chest in a shrug. "I'm not very religious. My parents didn't really go to church, not even for Christmas. It was never a very big part of my life, I suppose I just never thought about it." She leans back more heavily against me, turning her head so I have to pull mine back as she seeks out my gaze with hers. "You're gods are important to you. Aren't they?"

Wordlessly I nod. "Does that bother you?"

"What a silly thing to ask." Her palm touches my cheek and she smiles. "Everyone's entailed to their beliefs. I know very little about yours though. Maybe you could tell me about them."

"I think I'd like that."

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Breakfast this morning was much the same affair as it had been the day before, Entering the Great Hall at such an ungodly early hour does appear to allow my senses to become accustomed to the to the sights and sounds of the castle as they enter the waking world. Gradually building a tolerance so I am better able to function within society. Hermione's presence did prove to direct me from my senses much more effectively than the book I brought down yesterday. However she is a creature of habit and she will often pause in her speech in order to choose how best to express herself. In these long moments my attention would weaver, drastically. The chaos around me dragging me into all of the sights, smells and sounds the room had to offer. All to quickly everything became to much for me to be able to handle and the now familiar pounding in my head started to make itself known. Just as I could see Hermione's concern beginning to show in her eyes my salvation came in the form of a creased school uniform and straight red hair.

As before Ginny entered the Hall just as the noise level began to become intolerable and without missing a beat sat down opposite me and fell into an easy monologue. Speaking of nothing and everything, seemingly in a single breath. Changing from one subject to another at such a speed that it took most of my concentration to simply follow the train of thought. It took nearly half an hour to realise how much she had been distracting me from the rest of the student body.

Many of our classmates had left the Great Hall to attend their lessons before Hermione stood from her chair bringing my attention over to her direction. "Right, you two have to promise to stay out of trouble when I'm in Arithmancy." She says with a very serious look upon her face, her eyes cutting across the table from Ginny to me and then back again.

Ginny for her part does little more than pull a grin across her face that screams pure mischief and says brightly. "We promise."

"Uhuh." Hermione mumbles, disbelief showing plainly across her face before her eyes land on me.

"I'll be good Hermione."

My answer brings a small smile to her lips and she leans down in order to peck and mine. "Thank you Sweetheart." She says and leaves the Great Hall with a quick pace in order to arrive at her lesson on time.

Bringing my eyes level to look upon my younger friend, who due to our timetables is able to spend this free hour with me, I find her watching Hermione's retreating back with a thoughtful look on her face. When that look is finally directed at me I know that I have already broken my promise to my girlfriend as the sparkle in the redheads eyes can be nothing but trouble. "You always call her Hermione."

Crossing my arms across my chest I try to hide my confusion over her remark. "I was under the impression that, that was her name."

"It is. It's just..." She pauses and I see a rare moment where Ginny Weasley stops to think about her words before speaking. "She always calls you Sweetheart. It's high time she got a pet name."

A single eyebrow raises high on my forehead. "Oh really?" To be honest such a thing had never even entered my mind. She has always been Hermione, which is the only word that has ever been able to sum up the woman in her entirety. I can think of very few other words or even phrases in the English language that will be able to do the same.

"Yes really." This isn't something that she is going to drop is it? "Is it just that you can't think of any. Or that you can't settle on one?" She is only met with my stony silence for the largest time before she continues, more for her own benefit than mine. "I'm sure we can come up with something."

"We?" The worry is impossible to suppress in my voice.

"Yes we." She leans forward, resting her chin on her open palm, deep in thought her fingers tapping against her cheek one after another. "What about 'Pet'?"

I don't even need time to think to reject that idea. "She's not a possession Ginny."

"That is a very good answer. Alright not 'Pet'." She gets a far off look in her eyes, pushing air into her cheeks and throwing from side to side in her mouth. "I don't think even you can fault the word 'Sweetheart'"

"If only Hermione didn't call me that."

That provokes a frown. "You're right." Thoughtfully she nods and my rebuttal. "Hermione would never condone copying." She turns her head towards yet more students leaving the Great Hall and I lower my gaze to the table hoping that she might grow bored, move onto another topic as her eyes scan the large room. "I suppose you could shorten her name. Mione perhaps."

With those words this has become a game. A back and forth between the two of us, the reason for the banter almost taking a back seat to our enjoyment of her trying to embarrass me and while I try to shoot her down. "Just saying that word made you sound retarded."

"Oh." Her voice takes on a dramatic tone and she rests her hand against her chest in a show of injury. "You wound me with your words." If this is friendship then I have truly been missing out until now. "I know." She says, with a snap of her fingers. Leaning forward she shows me her teeth of a cheeky grin. "How about 'Patootie.'"

For just a moment I do nothing but blink at her, wondering how she is able to simply make up words on the spot. Then after a deep breath I unfold my arms and make to stand. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response."

"Really?" As I walk away I hear her standing from the table, walking along the other edge and matching my pace. "Not even 'Cutie Patootie."

"Not until even if it snowed in Tartarus."

"Is that a desert or something?" She asks.

For a moment I had forgotten myself. After the conversation I had been sharing with Hermione with regards to my faith I had forgotten to check the way I had been speaking to Ginny. I must try to remember that such things do not interest others as they do my girlfriend. Lucky this is something we had been discussing before Ginny entered the Great Hall so I am able to explain the place I am referring to. "You call it Hell."

"And you couldn't have just said that?" We meet at the head of the long table and she catches my pointed glare. To show her discomfort from receiving such a look she quickly clears her throat and without further pressing pulls the subject matter back to her task at hand. "So. I'm thinking 'Deary.'"

The grin returns to my face glad to be pulled back into the game. "Possibly." I say watching her face fill with excitement for just a moment before stamping it out. "When I'm a hundred and five."

"I don't think she can wait that long for a pet name." Why is laughter so easy in the company of this girl?

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After that, everything else just seamed so easy. Only having to deal with hushed conversations of maybe thirty students at any given time. Casually falling into the task assigned or item of study. Defence Against the Dark Arts did prove to be highly tedious as I already new much of the text books content, constantly finding my focus wavering only to have to reign it back in. For once Umbridge's constant need for silence in her classroom more of a blessing than a curse.

The real challenge came in the last room I would have expected. When my feet land on the stone floor, deep in the dungeons of the castle I immediately know I'm in trouble. Already able to smell each individual ingredient from the Potions classroom down the hall. Able to detect and separate each aroma for countless potion attempted in that room before the door has even opened to grant me entrance.

The odours hit me so suddenly and with such ferocity that in shear desperation I begin to identify each one, however I am unable to then discard them from my mind. The fragrance although named stays in my conscious mind, swimming around in my nostrils all of them rich or sharp as they hit my senses. All of them demand attention and will not be ignored regardless of what I try to focus on.

Somehow I manage to keep my pace steady as I wait for my last class of the day, even as I feel my eyes begin to twitch within their sockets. As we stand outside and patently wait for the potions master to arrive I as inconspicuously as possible close my eyes and drop my forehead into my hand. Hoping that by removing at least one set of stimulus from the equation that I might be able to hold my composure for the entire hour.

"Are you feeling alright?" The voice comes from the left and I have to take a moment to place who spoke.

Gritting my teeth, coaching myself so my voice will not shake with the intensity I can feel settling into my muscles I answer. "Fine Ron." If the red headed boy, who is usually highly unobservant is able to see the change in my demeanour, it is only a matter of time before other eyes land on me. Through shear force of will I push my head up and open my eyes, only feeling the smallest relief when my gaze remains steady.

Grinding my teeth once more I try to fall back on my lifeline and hunt for a heartbeat. Any one will do, that steady rush of blood through the four chambers I know will be enough to drag my attention away from the relentless assault against my nose. My ears search the hall and thirty steady heartbeats hit my ears all at once. I find myself unable to pick just one. One beat of the drum flowing into another that could be the same heart but upon close inspection I find it to be two which just happen to coincide.

My gaze lands on Hermione's neck for just a moment and I have to clench my hands so hard I feel my nails digging into the skin of my palm, so I am able to stop myself from reaching out to feel the steady rhythm of her pulse. I know without even speaking she would understand the action. She would know with nothing more than a glance that I am seeking out the steady thump of her heart amongst the chaos around me.

If this had been the prelude to almost any other lesson that is exactly what I would do. I would not have to consider who would witness the movement. Not have to question any others reaction. But here, down in the fire lit dungeons I am surrounded by my house mates. All of the Slytherin's down here have reason to despise me. If I have not directly injured or manipulated them they are close to those that I have. Any show of weakness will not only be detected but pounced upon like a pack of hungry hyena stalking their wounded prey.

This thought passes through my mind just as the potions master opens his classroom door and silently steps out to permit us entrance into his domain. Once through that threshold every smell intensifies tenfold, yet more aromas to be added to the growing mental list. Unable to stop myself from attempting to distinguish them all and categorise them. Always trying to find order amidst the mayhem and quickly becoming over whelmed by the magnitude of it.

Thankfully I find my seat without my knees crumbling beneath me. I have to force myself to keep my gaze level and my head from my hands. Feeling the now familiar pounding running through my skull, pressing against my cranium with such force with every passage of blood that I fear it might explode. The relentless pain stings the back of my eyes and I lower my gaze to the wooden tabletop. Trying to find pattern in the wooden grain hoping it might prove to be enough of a distraction.

I need something. Anything. As long as it's tangible and constant but I cannot simply reach across to either my girlfriend or her friends in search of their pulse. The only thing I have been able to find that will calm the raging sensation happening within my head.

In desperation I draw a lung full of air and hold it deep within my chest. For a moment the pain, without the constant barrage of intense odours to aggravate my senses subsides. Only to be replaced mere heartbeats later with a deep craving for fresh oxygen. As quickly and silently as possible I release the breath and draw another. To much, to many. All the smells in the room so rich I can taste them and they begin to grow heavy on my tongue.

Looking down at my hands I spy my fingers, trembling and clench them.

The clatter of metal draws my attention to my classmates. All of them pulling forth their cauldrons and lighting a flame beneath them. I need only glance at the blackboard for the name of a potion I know well. Something I have brewed so many times I might be able to do so in my sleep, though if fatigue were all I had to contend with in this moment that would indeed be a blessing.

Reaching down to my satchel I grasp at my cauldron, noting the unused iron feels much colder to the touch than I remember it being when I packed it this morning. Slowly I rise my eyes in silent thanks to Hermione as she sets down the ingredients that I will need. In all honesty I am uncertain if I would have been able to carry myself to the foot of the class to retrieve them myself. I catch her gaze and find only concern. She's noticed, though I am hardly surprised at this revelation. Somehow she must already know that she can do nothing to aid me. Not this time, surrounded by so many keen and unforgiving eyes, this time I'm on my own.

Instead of the expected indications of an impending seizure I feel my eyelids becoming as heavy as lead, black beginning to invade my vision and I can feel my mind shutting down, unable to cope with all of the information my extremities are sending for it to decipherer. On many levels I welcome the impending blackness, the nothingness that will always descend with unconsciousness. If I knew I could be granted some degree of privacy I would not fight the oblivion trying to settle over my conscious mind. I, in all honesty cannot cannot decide if a seizure of my muscles or my impending collapse would make me appear more weak in the eyes of all that surround us. All I know is that nether are acceptable reactions and with a speed of movement I did not know I possessed I capture Hermione's wrist in my grasp. Pressing my fingers tightly between the two bones at the joint until I feel that steady rush of blood.

Closing my eyes tightly and allowing myself to breath I hunt throughout all the sound in the room. Looking for that single one that matches the steady beat against my fingertips. It takes much longer than I would have liked and by the time my ears detect it all of my muscles are already trembling. Finding that one sound is enough, others begin to slip away as I pour all my energy into focussing on that single, dependable noise.

My gazes meets hers for a moment and I try to convey without words that I have been able to find her beating heart within the chaotic sounds of the room. All I can do now is convince myself that this small lifeline will be enough to carry me through the entire class. Slowly I remove my fingertips from her skin and take a single deep breath to reassure myself that I am still able to follow the dependable rhythm, even without the second physical cue.

My fingers hit glass as I reach out to take a lizard spleen too slice for my potion. only for it to clatter noisily on the floor. Shattering to pieces and breaking my concentration on Hermione's heart once more. Eyes are on me, I can feel them boring into my skin, burning like liquid fire and my hand clenches so tightly against the imminent spasms that I hear the bones along my knuckled crack and grind together.

Without warning Professor Snape it at my desk. His impressive hight bearing down on me in an intimidating manor I have adopted myself on more occasions than I can count. Lifting my gaze slowly along the lapels of his robes I finally meet his bottomless back eyes as he looks down his crocked nose in my direction. They dart around in their sockets for endless seconds, observing me, scrutinising me as it picking and prodding into my most private of thoughts. Then something enters his features, sympathy or concern, I cannot distinguish which and within a moment it is wiped clean. A simple order of "Get out of my classroom." Is issued and I have never felt so relived to be reprimanded before in the whole of my existence.

I reach down for my back and pull myself to my shuddering feet in a single movement, setting my sights on the door, holding my breath until I feel the cold metal handle within my grasp. The door bursts open under my weight, after a stumbled step I kick it closed with my heel, uncaring if it slams behind me, only wishing to block out the oppressing aromas of the room. Another stagger and my chest falls onto the adjacent cold damp stone, my breaths shallow and rushed as I try to force air into my lungs.

Now in the relative privacy of the hallway I let my forehead rest forward and hunt for something, anything I can grasp onto with my senses. Even though I am capable of feeling my own heart pounding against my breastbone I am unable to hear it over the rush of blood along my ears. Only another beating every so slightly out of time with my own will do. Every sound I find in the darkness remains an unidentified anomaly as it tails off to leave silence in it wake. Silence only to be filled with the unique melody of this castle and the sounds and smells now incomprehensible and I feel my back being to spasm.

Searching for something tangible my hands land on my crown, pressing my forehead into the unforgiving rock, digging sharp nails into any scrap of flesh they can find. This is not a technique I have employed in the last two days but I know through untold years of experience that pain will always remain constant, will always fire the same response in my brain and will drown out any other form of stimulus until it is all that can be felt. My teeth grit against the self induced pain, crying out has never and will never be acceptable when confronted with any form of painful sensation. Only resulting in an intensification of the feeling until all that is left is silent suffering.

Even the pain isn't enough as I hear confident footfalls through the closed wooden door only to hear the old hinges creak as it opens, grating against my sensitive ears with such ferocity that it forces all of the air from my lungs.

A hand lands on my shoulder and I can feel it's chill right through my robes and uniform. The muscle flinches and mercifully the potions master does not make to touch me again. "Jamelia." He calls softly and I bite my tongue both at the volume of his voice and detesting the sound of my full giving name released to the fringed damp air. "Turn around."

Releasing the skin at the back of my head from my tight grip I take a breath, reaching out with my ears and find Snape's heart thumping steadily, almost calmly in his chest. Another two breaths and let my eyes open, the distraction proving to be enough to force the throbbing in my head to recede ever so slightly.

My palm finds cold stone as it pushing my body to turn, my eyes feeling heavy with weariness, stubbornly raise to meet my head of house's gaze.

Years of coaching have taught me when and where to assume a roll of mild submission and I open my mouth to profusely apologise for my actions only to be cut off my his cold commanding voice. "What is the matter?"

"I..." My tongue takes on the weight of lead, halting my speech as I search my mind for a way to explain this phenomenon without calling into question either my sanity or how safe the rest of the student body will be in my presence.

'This man wishes to aid you.' Another voice enters the fray from within my own mind. Ammy ignores the violent flinch of my head and the painful grinding of my teeth. 'You must offer him the tools in which to do so.'

Even through the situation is far from humourers a breathless laugh is pushed from my lungs. Lately all I the advised I have received from the people around me is to open myself up. Reveal things that aught to be concealed. My entire life I have hidden myself from prying eyes. Hiding behind masks and lies. Now every voice I hear pleads with me to go against my very nature and disclose aspects of my life that I would like nothing more than to be kept private.

"Well?" Snape's impatient voice stings against my ears. So many times I have seen concern fill his eyes, never before this moment has such an emotion laced through his voice. What a spectacle I must be, shaking in my skin debating my own insanity.

"I have a headache." I answer. As close to the truth as I can manage without disclosing the finer details as to the reason for such pain.

"That would certainly be an understatement." He sniffs once, his eyes continuing to run across my form, somehow he knows that I either cannot or will not go into any further detail on the subject. He takes a step closer crossing his arms across his chest. "Miss Desay. Something is causing you great pain, that much is plain to see. If you cannot confide in me then I must urge you to confide in someone."

The silence that follows is almost deafening with it's implications and his heavy gaze forces me to drop mine to the floor. My tongue twitches in my mouth to give into the temptation and take the help he offers so freely. I know that my trust in this man is growing at an almost alarming rate but something like this. Something so unique and unprecedented. I don't know if I can run such a risk, not when I am completely unable to foresee the outcome of such a confession. As a result I hold my tongue for many long beats of his heart.

His sigh is born of sheer frustration and his shoes scuff against the stone floor. "I think it best, if you continue this lessons study in your own time Miss Desay."

He turns and takes three steps, my gaze following each movement of his shoes the door opens and closes behind him and I am left to mutter at the closed door. "Thank you Professor."


	22. Chapter 22: Lines in the Sand

Chapter 22

The cold water stings my skin as it splashes against my face, my hands then rub vigorously against my skin, trying to rid myself of the lingering stench of the portions classroom. I cup my hand once more under the running tap and bring the refreshing liquid to my face, taking extra time to run my fingers around my nasal passageways. Nothing is working, the moment the shock of the freezing water begins to weaver I can smell all of the odours that reside down in the dark, dank, dungeons. It's everywhere, resting on my skin, stuck to the individual stands of my hair and no matter how many times I try to cleanse my face it lingers and forces my head to pound with every passage of blood though it.

Finally giving up, I meet the eyes of my reflection, leaning heavily on the basin and watching my jaw muscles clench beneath the skin. "Make this stop." I say, trying to bleed a commanding tone through my words but only my pleading voice hits my ears.

I don't know if it is my imagination or not but I would swear I see Ammy shift behind my iris' and a deep sense of discomfort echoes across my skin. 'I cannot.' After many long breaths her voice rings inside of my head.

"You will not." I accuse, turning from the mirror and snatching my towel from the rail to press it against my face.

Her sigh sounds inside of my skull. 'Only you have the power to lesson this burden.'

"Enough with the fucking cryptic!" I shout, throwing the towel against the row of sinks. The moment the words are free, I release the last shreds of my temper have slips between my fingers. It is rare for me to swear and even more so for me to raise my voice in such a way but I have just been reduced to both, by the voices in my own mind.

Quickly I turn my attention towards the stalls. I did not have the presence of mind to check they were empty when I entered and with no lock on the door this is hardly the most private place I could have this discussion.

Ammy falls silent, whether to appease me or to anger me further I have no way of knowing, but somehow she manages to do both, in equal measure.

I drop down onto one knee and lower my head close to the tiled floor, allowing my eyes to search under the closed cubicles for any sign of life. I'm thankful to find myself alone but unwilling to test my luck a second time. So without further thought on the matter I exit the toilet, glancing up and down the deserted hallway and setting my long stride in any direction that takes me away from both the dungeons and the potions classroom.

Without being totally aware of my direction I pass beneath yet another threshold and the sharp winds of the early spring, catch the skin along my cheek. Finding myself strangely outdoors should no longer shock me so deeply. Something deep in the pit of my belly or in the darkest crevice of my mind compels me to be out in the open air. That deep feeling of freedom bringing me back over and over again. Craving to break free of the confining walls of the castle, I had at first attributed to the changes that have happens recently in my life. Or the lines between human and beast blurring until I desired what the best inside of me thought it needed to survive.

Now the world isn't so black and white. The wolf I had made every effort to distance myself from invades my mind and takes up residence. Lines that were once drawn in the sand have been wiped away by an uncaring paw. Where do I end and she being? Is the deep seated need to feel the wind running through my hair my own feelings, as I miss the exhilaration of the Quidditch pitch? Or just merely an older more primal need for the creature in my chest to feel at liberty?

The thought alone almost makes me want to turn on my heel and return to the indoors. My obstinacy almost winning over against the election rising within my chest. Almost.

Frowning at my own weakness, against such a simple temptation I let one foot fall in front of the other so I move away from the cold, unforgiving stone walls and out into the open air. My gaze never leaves my feet, even as they pass over cobble stones and out into the grounds, flattening innocent blades of grass beneath them with each footfall. No destination in mind but I know that if I even attempt to stand still, I might tear out my own hair in frustration.

The incident in the potions room was a miscalculation that I will not permit to happen again, I will bring my own body under my control and I will master this new aspect it has acquired. Where as I had at first, focused much of my efforts into building a tolerance to my enhanced hearing, it now becomes apparent that my sense of smell, especially when aggravated in such a way can be even more detrimental to the mask of impassivity, I have spent so much time and effort to maintain over the years. The new developments in my disorder must remain a secret, at all costs and if there is one thing I do well, it's keeping secrets. Most especially when they are my own.

To get a tighter grip on this sense, I need once more to expose myself. A task, which will in no way be as simple as to strategically place myself into the Great Hall. The only smells that can be found there is that of the other clean bodies around me and the enticing sent of the delectable foods displayed. To be able to keep myself under control in my potions lesson I will need to find something more acrid and foul than I would ever find in Snape's supply cupboard. Religiously expose myself to it until it no longer has any hold over me.

The problem I am now faced with is what could produce such a pungent stench, that I have continual access to? What tools do I have at my disposal to aid me in this solution?

'Will you share such deep thoughts?' Her voice, pushing through my ravine has me stopping in my tracks. For just a fleeting moment I had forgotten she existed within me. My looming loss of sanity falling into darkness, in favour of puzzling out my more immediate problems to the finest detail. 'You're silence is troubling'

"I told you I wasn't very talkative." I answer, resuming my walk and determined to put her out of my thoughts for a second time.

'Yet you evaluate so deeply that your thoughts almost touch mine.'

Her words once more bring me to a halt. "You can hear my thoughts?" I ask, deeply unsettled by the notion. If that were to be true she could hold more power over me that I would have ever thought possible.

'Not as such.' She must be able to hear the relief in my exhale because she quickly continues. 'I am able to feel that they trouble you deeply.'

"Stay out of my thoughts." I warn, taking the time to glance around the open grounds to make sure no one will be able to overhear as I slowly lose my grip on reality.

'Why must you guard yourself so?' Patently she waits for my answer. It's a mistake many people make around me. I know my silence can be somewhat frustrating but no answer I could give would be either truthful nor satisfactory. So I say nothing and when I feel her irritation run across my shoulders I hope that she will accept my stoic nature and forgo any further attempts at civil conversation. 'Is your own council always sufficient?'

Is such persistence always so bothersome? Perhaps if I make a substantial offering to Harpocrates, Ammy might fall into silence, permanently. "Yes." My answer is both curt and sharp, maybe she might pick up on the harsh of my tone of voice and drop the subject, along with any other.

The pause, to my displeasure only lasts for a moment. 'How is it you are able lie so convincingly?'

The growl that rumbles in my chest is so animalistic that it must originate from the creature beneath my skin but is born from my own frustration. "Practice." I say through gritted teeth, pushing my legs into a brisk walk. The last thing I want to be doing is having this argument, or for that matter any sort of argument, with what is quite possibility my own subconscious. Or if I am not losing touch with reality, a hairy, snarling beast that is only able to completely take control once a month. Neither of which I would feel comfortable confiding in.

'Perhaps I may be able to be of some assistance?' She says, under normal circumstances I would remove the annoyance from my immediate vicinity, expel the irritation completely so I will not to tempted to react to it. I do not have that option available to me in this instance and it is slowly beginning to throw me off balance. When she was content to be a silent passenger behind my eyes I could almost forget her presence, save for the more intense of her emotion running rampant across my skin, which I will admit where a little disconcerting. However before this afternoon she did not become involved in my affairs or question the way in which I conduct myself and I do not care for this drastic change. The laugh that runs through my head after many moments of her wordlessly waiting for me to reply is by no means humerus. 'Yours must be a lonely existence, Human.'

I have to psychically bite my tongue at the use of my species as a substitute for my name. I will not give her the satisfaction of raising to the bait she has laid for me, no matter the temptation.

Thankfully she does not try again to initiate any further conversation with me. I can still feel her, critically gazing out at the world from behind my eyes but I am grateful that she is at least doing so quietly.

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All to quickly the daylight dissolves into the first signs of twilight. The sky once such a pure, pale blue now alive with vibrate scarlet steaks, as the last rays of the sun desperately cling to the Weston sky. Soon the presence of the day must lose it's battle and hand over the earth to the night, shrouding me in the comfort of the darkness it will carry in it's wake.

I had not noticed the passage of time until I noticed the light beginning to dwindle. I cannot place another time that I have been able to lose myself, to such an extent for such a long period of time without being safely tucked away in my self induced solitude.

The quickly retreating daylight forces me to return to the indoors, as I am unwilling to see the extent of Umbridge's wrath if I am found outside of the castle walls after nightfall. I have no doubt that she would use such information to smear my name and incite terror into the hearts of those around me, for no other reason than it is nothing less than those with my particular affliction deserve. Granted I have no concrete evidence to suggest she is capable of being quite so devious but it is a level I would certainly stoop too, given the opportunity.

Retuning the the rest of the student body becomes a chore the moment I step out of the chilling wind. An ache deep within my chest beseeching to be returned to the open air, released to the wild and allowed to run. The need for open spaces can simply be an effect of the impending full moon. Less than two weeks separate me from my next transformation and previous experience does suggests that I become restless around this time of the month. Though I don't remember the feeling being this palpable.

I dare not risk entering the Great Hall, even though dinner has long since ended and students will be dwindling in numbers, I don't think I could bear to be around others at this time. This is a feeling that I know to be wholly mine. Even after so many hours I have been unable to conceive a suitable solution to my advanced sense of smell disrupting my lessons. There are many things in the world that can give off a pungent enough odour and should be able to desensitise me to the violent sensations I experienced in the dungeon. However none that I can think of are either immediately or continuously available to me. It is not often that I fail in such matters and this predicament has put me into a sour moon to say the least.

For this reason I only contemplate climbing the stairs to the northern tower. Where a warm shower and a loving embrace beckon me. The consideration only passes through me for a second before I weave my way through the ground floor corridors to my private room. There is no reason to subject her to my current state. She would only wish to assist me and that in turn would only erk me further. In such a vast school the answer must be obtainable, it is simply a matter of finding it but right now I am finding myself far too drained to ponder it further.

I'm well on my way to my room when I hear her voice, young Ginny Weasley, muttering away to herself. I almost turn on the spot them moment I hear her voice, echoing down stone walls but other than Hermione's chambers, where have I to go? Perhaps I will be able to just dismiss the redhead so I may be left to suffer in peace. Although I find that particular outcome unlikely.

When I turn the corner, what I find has my eyebrow raising in interest. The younger witch has taken some time to get herself as comfortable as possible in the drafty hallway and is sitting on the floor with her back pressed up against the withered wood of my door. Her legs outstretched in front of her and crossed at the ankles. Her head presses back against the wood grain and her speech doesn't stop for a instant. "Honestly Jamie. You should have seen his face." In her hand is a small box of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans and she shakes the small card box to disrupt the contents so her eyes can scan through the multitude of colours she must find there. She has yet to notice my presence but still she speaks to me, this girl is if noting else, very strange. "All I said was. 'I think we should see other people.' and he looks at me like I'd just killed and eaten his owl or something. We weren't even that close. In all seriousness. You and Hermione have it made. Men can be so clingy some times."

Her rant only stops when my shadow falls over her, drawing her attention from the sweets in her hand. She looks up and me, her forehead creasing in confusion and her jaw hangs from it's hinges for a moment. Tilting my head to the side I try not to let my amusement at the situation show. "What in the name, of all the Gods are you doing?"

"Urm..." She says her teeth snapping together as she pushes some rigidity into her jaw. "Talking to... You?" The halted words should have been a statement of fact but my sudden arrival appears to have thrown her off balance and I take a small amount of sadistic pleasure when I am able to reassure myself that I am not the only one out of sorts this evening.

"I see." The small grin on my face a direct contrast to the sarcasm laced through my tone. "That must have been a riveting conversation."

"Yeah well..." She huffs as she pushes against the door so she is able to clamber to her feet. Brushing her hand across the backs of her trousers to dislodge the dust that clings to them. "I thought you would be in there and were just being stoic."

Crossing my arms across my chest I can't help but feel touched by her actions. "You thought I was being so quiet, yet you did not take that as a hint that I might wish to be left alone?"

"You know I did think that and I just didn't care." She holds her sweets out to me in offering. "Want a bean? I've yet to find any bogey flavoured ones but there was a tense moment when one turned out to be tomato instead of strawberry."

"No. Thank you." Feeling my eyebrows hood heavily over my eyes. I regard her as she turns her attention once more to the unpredictable treat. "Perhaps I wish to be alone now." The hint is my no means subtle, I know but I am unsure if I could express myself in any sort of tactful way around the girl and be fully understood.

She mealy shrugs into the cardboard box. "Tough." She says and I feel a small ball of anger ignite within my belly. My privacy is something that I guard ferociously and with a simple word she has managed to simply brush aside my wishes. Her eyes meet mine after a few moments of deeply uncomfortable silence. "Jamie. You spend way to much time alone. It's just not healthy, especially when you need someone's heartbeat to stop you having seizures or passing out."

'She raises a valid point.' After so many hours of quiet, Ammy is back her resounding voice filling my head without warning.

Violently I flinch from the unexpected intrusion. "See." Ginny says, as if the instinctive movement proves her point. "Even now you're having problems with that hearing." It is fortunate that she took the movement as a show of pain from some distant noise that she is unable to perceive but the fact that she was able to see the action proves that I must learn a way to control the reaction whenever Ammy chooses to make her opinion known.

"I am capable of looking after myself." I state.

"Yeah." Her shoulders bunch in a shrug for a moment and her gaze meets mine. "That shouldn't mean that you have to."

Again, she raises an interesting perspective, one I am certain I have never considered. I have always been under the impression that personal failings should always remain private. At the very most a family member could offer support or aid. Now I find myself confronted with this outgoing, outspoken girl who not only goes out of her way to lend a helping hand but actively fights against my resistance to it. It does still cause me irritation but not to the extend I had expected. The thought alone causes some undefinable warm sensation across my skin that I have rarely felt before.

For several long moments I watch her, watching me with much more patience than I thought she possessed. Finally I take a deep breath and make my decision. "Would you like to come inside?"

She grins so wide that she shows me her teeth. "I was beginning to think you were going to send me away."

I answer with my own smirk. "I very nearly did." I step around her and whisper my password to the door, knowing that she will be able to hear it but find myself strangely relaxed about that fact.

As I push on the door it drops off it's hinge so the door drags along the floor and I have to tug it upwards to be able to swing it open into the corridor. "Have you still not fixed that?" Ginny comments walking past me and into the room ahead of me.

"It slipped my mind." With how little time I spend in the small, confined space the effort almost seamed pointless.

"Right. We'll fix it later." She says no longer offering her aid but forcing it upon me, as if she knows that I would refuse if it were not spoken like a demand. She takes a seat on the bed, eyeing it weary as the springs creak in protest beneath her weight, then pulls herself further onto it so her back rests against the cold wall. "Well. This is almost as comfortable as sitting on the floor."

I do not comment but release a snort of laughter at her statement. She need not remind me of the sate of that particular piece of furniture, the mere thought causes my back and knees to ache.

"What are you making." She asks peering over to the now cold cauldron on the desk.

"Nothing of consequence." I take out my wand and after taping the metal brim once I silently clense the appliance. I'd forgotten about the stagnant potion I had left in this room. At the very least it no longer smells of the sea in here. "So, what did you come here to talk about?"

"Anything." She says with yet another shrug.

The statement is baffling to say the very least. She came here with no specific purpose, no intentions in mind. So what is the point?

Once again her attention resides with her sweets. She holds one in her hand and and studies it in the dim light. As if working up the courage to actually test the flavour of it. "I broke it off with Michel."

"I heard." I had gathers as much from the small amount of one sided conversation when I turned the corner. "Are you no longer attracted to him?" My eyes scan my desk. I should tidy away my apothecary supplies. If my deal with Ammy holds true I will have no further use for it and the action could act as positive gesture to the beast still peering out through my eyes.

"For his looks maybe." I can almost hear the natural indifference in her voice.

"But he does not have unkempt black hair and short sightedness." My smirk is the only answer she revives to her narrowed eyes. Her attraction to Harry is no secret except to the clueless boy himself.

"No." She says with menace laced through her voice. "He's boring."

"You'd grow bored of breathing if it weren't a natural reaction."

She nods slightly in agreement. "Probably."

Once more my eyes sweep the desk and with a lethargic stretch I push the tip of my wand against the base of the cauldron to light the flame and begin to pull ingredients from the side and study the labels.

"What are you doing?" The redhead asks from across the cramped room.

"I have a headache." Is her only answer and in moments I have conjured enough liquid in the base of my apparatus and added all the in ingredients to the very simple potion. "Is the end of your relationship what you wished to speak to me about?" Sitting back I give Ginny most of my attention, only checked the potion every few moments as it comes up to the boil.

"Not particularly. You weren't at dinner, just thought I'd check in." I lift my chin in silent question, wondering why my well-being is so important to her. However she either fails to notice the gesture or completely ignores it. "Have you given any more thought to Hermione's nickname?" She asks finally having the courage to put the brown coloured bean into her mouth and I watch as her facial expression sours instantly.

"None." I answer honestly.

She nods a moment and appears to be holding her breath against the presumably foul taste in her mouth, her eyes scan the room looking for somewhere to dispose of the unwanted treat and upon finding non she swallows it without chewing. Screwing her face up in disgust the moment she begins to breath. "I thought you'd say that." She holds her hand out to halt the conversation before sticking her tongue out and running her nails across it to rid herself of the taste. "That tasted like crap."

"Given it's colour it is possible." I say noticing the first bubbles forming in my potion and quickly douse the flame, giving it only a moment to cool I ladle it out into a goblet and place it on the desk for a minute.

Ginny for her part pushes the remainder of her sweets away as if I had just told them they were highly explosive and curiously gazes at me. "Aren't you going to drink that?"

To be perfectly honest I had begun to make the damned thing for something to occupy both my mind and my hands as we spoke. Now that it is ready I am unsure. Before in the Room of Requirement the 'Muffelo' charm had a very adverse effect on me, the reasons for which are still unknown. Will this potion provoke the same result? And if so, once it begins will there be a way to stop it?

Pushing my fingers and thumb against my temple I am reminded of the fact that my head has not ceased pounding for days on end and I would give almost anything for just a few hours of relief.

Without giving myself time to analyse my actions any further I reach for the goblet and swallow the draught in a single gulp. The effect is immediate and to my immense relief the pain recedes to nothing. My shoulders relax and I lean my elbows heavily on the wooden desk, pressing the warmed metal of the drained goblet against my forehead. It feels like a weight has been lifted from my entire body, letting me relax into my own skin. A feeling I had taken for granted until this moment.

"Better?" Ginny asks and I can hear the smile in her words.

"Yes." I say around a genuine laugh. Pushing my head to the side I both hear and feel the bones in my neck pop with the movement, releasing yet further tension from my aching muscles. "By the gods, yes."

She makes a noise in the back of her throat that, to at least my ears rings of approval. "Well at least that's something. Beginning to think I should cart you off to bed through."

Taking my skin from the cooling metal and finding my eyelids as heavy as lead I'm inclined to agree with her. But for one small problem. "You appear to be sitting on it."

Her eyebrows shoot up in disbelief, pulling her eyes wide and wrinkling her forehead. "You can't seriously be considering sleeping down here."

"I can." Slowly I ease myself back into my seat, resting heavily against the back of the chair. "I enjoy my privacy."

"Not from your 'Snuggles'." She says leaning forward to watch my reaction closely and upon receiving the most disapproving look I can muster she sighs in frustration, blowing her long fringe out of her eyes. "How can you not like the name Snuggles?"

"With great ease I assure you."

She grumbles something unintelligible in the back of her throat and pulls herself forward to rest much of her weight on the soles of her feet but does not stand. "Shall we go?"

For a few long heartbeats she just looks, unflinching into my eyes, almost daring me to challenge her on the subject. "You're not going to let this drop are you?"

"Nope. If you insist on sleeping down here. So do I." She leans forward again and lowers her voice trying to make it take a menacing edge, which does little more than give her a melodramatic air. "And I kick." Swiftly she stands and gently strikes me with the back of her hand, in some strange gesture to get me moving. "Come on."

I find myself too tiered to argue with the younger witch so concede on this occasion but not before I have dug several clean flagons from my trunk and sealed the fresh potion I have made within them. She shakes her head at me as I begin to tidy away my desk and leaves the room, presumably hoping that the action will force me to follow her. I quickly use the time to request Ammy leave me with some privacy for the evening, as I find myself disinclined to have a heated discussion with Hermione with regards to my problems down in the dungeons when I have the primal half of my body, nagging from inside my skull to be more truthful than I am completely comfortable with when speaking to my girlfriend.

As soon I leave the small, dingy room and once more am forced to lift the door so that it closes properly I fall into stride with the youngest Wesley. Unsurprised when she jumps immediately into conversation. "Doesn't take a lot to convince you to go and spend the night with your 'Ducky.'" She gets a hopeful look in her eyes for a moment as we simultaneously glance across the small space that separates us.

"Ducky?" Is all I can say, having to strain in the effort not to roll my eyes. "You cannot take every animal you can think of, put a 'Y' at the end and call it a term of endearment."

"Hey." She says sharply, cutting her hand through the air in front of her. "I thought we were of the understanding that we were calling this a nickname."

"Because there is such a vast difference between the two." Sarcasm once more flows through my words and practically drips onto the stone beneath our feet.

"Of cause there is. If I ever have to retell this story there is no way I'm calling it it 'The Great Hunt for the Perfect..." She lowers the pitch of her voice significantly and pushes her tongue between her lower lip and her teeth as she speaks to make her sound like am imbecile. "Term of Endearment."

Try as I may I don't think I am able to keep the dismay from my voice. "That's preposterous."

"Why? Because I would actually be telling people about my life?" The gentle jibe does not go unnoticed, especially considering she turns her gaze fully towards me to view my reaction.

"No." I answer a beat to quickly, betraying the fact that the thought of her revealing our private conversations makes much of my blood turn to ice in me veins. "Because you would entitle it."

She shrugs her shoulders in indifference. "I have an idea." Before drastically changing the topic of discussion. Sometimes it is very difficult to keep pace with how quickly this woman's mind can jump from one substance to the next. "There is no way that you are going to agree to any nickname I can think up." I should have guessed she would drag us back to that one way or another. I make a noise of agreement in the back of my throat, not wanting to disrupt her train of thought. "So I could start calling her these names and see how she reacts."

"Why on earth would you do that?"

"Because it's fun." She throws a meaningful look in my direction. "And because it will make you squirm."

I sigh and try to make it sound uncaring. "Do what you must." The evil grin that pulls across her face gives me a inclining that she has been able to see right through my ruse.


	23. Chapter 23: Needs of the Lion

Chapter 23

It isn't long before we both stand at Hermione's doorway, Ginny quickly declines my offer for her to accompany me inside, stating that Hermione is already accusing us of wrong doing when we are together and she didn't want to give her any further reason to chastise me. This comment was closely followed by a wink sent in my direction, which deeply confuses me but before I could ask her as to the reason for such an action she had turned and left.

Leaving me to enter Hermione bedchamber alone. I find her at her desk, hunched over an unravelled scroll of parchment, her head resting heavily in her hand. "Feeling any better?" she asks without lifting her gaze and the quills still rapidly scratches black ink onto the page.

I pause in my stride, wondering when she began to know me so well. She only enquires as to be current state, refrains from asking where I have been and what I have been doing. Possibly because she knows I am almost physically unable to give her a straight answer to such a question and does not wish to provoke an argument. "Yes, thank you." My teeth touch the tip of my tongue as I contemplate expanding further. "Ginny came to see me."

She only smiles turning her head to watch her quill as she dips it deeply into the ink well to refill it. "I told her to leave you be. You weren't excessively rude, were you?" Her eyes once more find the page as she pulls her tiny script along it's surface.

"I don't think so." I know I had every intention of turning the redhead away by any means necessary. At some point and I'm unsure when, I lost track of that goal. I quickly pull my robes from my shoulders and fold them neatly into my draw so I can avoid Hermione's accusing glare. She does enjoy her neatness. "Am I..." I begin to ask a question, only to cut myself off, whether that is because am fearful of the answer I will revive or I do not wish for her to know I have doubts is unclear, but I find myself unable to finish the thought and turn away from her. Having a mind to drop the subject entirely.

The continuous scratching of her quill stops and I hear her adjust her position, moments before I feel her eyes boring into my back. Try as I may I am unable to find an adequate distraction so I can ignore her probing gaze and beguilingly I turn to meet her stare. "What were you going to say?" Her voice has taken a much more gentle edge, as if coaxing an injured deer out into the open.

"It doesn't matter." I say with a shake of my head and turn to enter the small adjoining bathroom.

Her light footsteps follow my movement and when I close the door behind me I can hear her slow and careful exhale of breath from the other side. "It clearly was important or you wouldn't have started to speak Jamie." Trying to ignore her probing I turn on the hot water tap and step back waiting for the water to come up to temperature. "Please Sweatheart."

I honestly didn't know that such a thing would intrigue her so. Turning to pull the door open she raises her eyes up to meet mine, waiting patently for me to explain myself. "Do you think I spend to much time in solitude?"

Instantly her forehead creases in a worried frown. "Is that what you two have been talking about?"

Bunching a shoulder in a shrug I try to veer away from some of the other topics we touched on. "Among other things." I watch her as she turns her eyes downcast to meet the floor, a thoughtful look playing across her face. "Well?" At some point I have become very invested in her answer and feel my impatience clambering up the throat.

She takes a breath and tries to begin twice before committing to her response. "You're not nearly as bad as you used to be."

"I see." I turn back into the bathroom and go to push the door closed once more but she throws out her arm to stop it's progress. A single glance at the determined look on her face convinces me to not resist the intrusion but I am not yet completely willing to continue along this line of questioning, I attempt to distance myself from it and push the plug deep into the drain, standing over the basin to watch it fill with water. Carefully training my eyes on the liquid as the level begins to rise.

Slowly she enters the room, taking a perch on the side of the small copper tub and watches me intently. "What's brought this on?" She ask trying unsuccessfully to catch my eye.

"Nothing." My hands reach to my neckline, to begin unbuttoning my shirt and chancing a glance in Hermione's direction I can see she has adopted my tactic of remaining as quiet as possible, leaving me to fill the almost uncomfortable, empty space between us. "I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry."

I receive a heavy sigh from her, having not filled the void with what she wished to hear and she leans forward to rest her forearms against her knees. "Sometimes. When I know you want to be alone all I want to do is pull you into my arms and make sure everything is going to be alright. It's hard sometimes not to."

My shirt falls open and I reach out to turn off the tap, pressing my tongue against the back of my teeth in thought. "Then why don't you just do that?"

"Because it's not what you want. Not from me, not from anyone."

I push the clothing from my shoulders and into my waiting hands taking a moment to rest it over the side of the tub next to Hermione. "You're always forgoing the things that you want because they conflict with mine."

"Yes. When it comes to things like this." She takes a long breath and I can see much of her face screw up in deep thought. While waiting for her answer I dip my hands into the warm water and bring my cupped palms to my cheeks and neck. "I know that you deal with things differently, than I do." She continues as soon as I lather the soap in my hands and bring it to my face. "When you're upset you tend to flinch when I try and touch you."

Brining yet more water to my skin to rid myself of the bubbles I shake my head to expel the excess droplets clinging to me. "Do I really do that?" Blindly I reach of the towel and thank Hermione when she pushes it into my hand.

"Most of the time." I can hear the tinge of sadness threading through her voice. "Why do you do that?"

"I don't know." The miss truth slips from between my lips without even pausing for thought, falling back on one of my longest, oldest habits. My aversion to physical contact especially when I am troubled, is something we have never really touched on in all the times we have spoken and I had been happy to leave those demons buried indefinably.

It wasn't often that my father raised his hand to me. He would favour other, more subtle forms of penalization to mould me into the person he wanted me to be but on the rare occasion that he did, it was still the hardest punishment I could endure. He would save the strike of his fist to times when he could see my emotions playing clearly across my features. A closed fisted blow to the side of the head or a meaty hand enclosing over the back of my neck and pushing my face into the nearest flat surface, the term 'Shut up, or I'll give you something to cry about.' Always on the tip of his tongue in these moments. These beating became less and less frequent as I grew older and leaned to school my features so he could not see when I was displeased with something.

Hermione will often move to touch me in these moments and as I see her reaching for me, I know that I expect her to lash out, with a pounding fist and harsh words. I truly do not believe she ever would resort to violence. Not when she spends much of her time trying to coax me into talking about my feelings more but all I can see is a hand reaching for me, not the identity of it's owner. I knew that she had at some point noticed the my unease over the matter and she has drastically reduced how hard she tries to comfort me with her body but I was unaware that I physically flinched from her touch.

When my face and neck are once more adequately dry I raise my gaze to meet hers. The look on her face screams at me to divulge my secrets to her. As if she knows that I lie about such things. When did she learn my tells? When did she become so adept at reading the expressionless look on my face that I have spent much of my short life perfecting?

It strikes me that in this moment that even though I cannot fathom why, she needs my comfort, my touch to sooth her fears. Where I know if our positions were reversed I could not stand such a thing. So stepping closer to her I rest one of my hands against the curve of her shoulder and the other curls along her cheek, my thumb stroking the skin I find beneath it.

Her eyes are moist with unshaded tears as she leans into the soft caress, her hand reaching up to hold mine against her flesh. "You're keeping something from me." Her accusation is softly spoken and without menace.

"Yes." I answer around a sigh, my tongue taking on a mind of it's own and drags a truthful answer between my lips. Hope fills her eyes as her grip on my hand tightens. Pleading with me to continue, to shed light on this dark aspect of my upbringing but I cannot. Cannot bring myself to open my mouth and spill such closely guarded secrets. "Please Hermione. Don't."

As her eyes close around her frustration a single tear spills from under her lashes and touches my thumb. The small droplet remaining on my skin as I wipe away it's track down her face, burning me with accusation. "It helps to talk about it."

"I don't want to think about it." Now I wish I had remained characteristically quiet this entire time, never bringing this topic to the surface.

She sniffs back her tears and reaches for me, hesitating when I feel the muscles in my face clench in a barely noticeable wince. Is that truly what she notices? The smallest twitch in my muscles that even I was unable to perceive, until she brought it to my attention. Determination sets in as I take my touch from her, too push her hands against both of my cheeks, stepping forward I push against one of her knees to draw them apart so I may step more fully into her embrace. Bending at the hip I press my forehead against hers and close my eyes to dispel the coil of fear appearing deep in my stomach. I keep having to remind myself that she would never, could never berate me for letting my feelings show.

"I'm sorry." I whisper. Guilt at making her feel so helpless evident in my voice.

She sighs and saying nothing she turns her head craning her neck into an awkward angle to press her lips against mine for just a moment. I can feel her gaze boring into me as she gently strokes my cheek, patiently waiting for me to be willing enough to renter the conversation and meet her stare.

I drop my hands so my arms can circle her waist and slowly let my eyes slide open. "I'm sorry." I repeat and watch her lips lift in a saddened smile.

Her palms fall to my shoulders and her forearms rest along my chest. "I know." Questions burn so brightly behind her deep brown eyes, that I feel I must remove them from my site before they can pry any painful information from me. After this short conversation I am loath to leave her loose embrace so instead step closer, leaning down to capture her lips in a kiss and find myself unsatisfied by one so immediately return for a second.

In mere moments our intimate dance has begun. Mouths meeting over and over again in a timeless rhythm, which has existed since time began. The pads of her fingers burn a trail of desire along my collarbone and neck. The raw, chaotic emotion running rampant throughout the room, seeping deep into my pours, coiling deep in my belly and bringing fourth a deep craving for the woman I stand before, a craving so carnal and unrelenting that my fingers find the column of her neck, drawing incoherent pattens across her skin until she shivers her approval.

"This isn't exactly what I had in mind." She whispers, gasping so close to me, that as she exhales I feel her warm breath running down the inside of my throat.

I move to pull away, afraid that I have over stepped my bounds, when her knees turn to fully envelop my calves within her hooked legs and her shoulders shoot forward so her hands land over the back of my neck and halt any movement. "I thought..."I start, only to be cut off by her tongue pushing between my open lips to entice mine into action so it may dance with hers.

The action both confounds and delights me, in equal measure but now that she has indicated she wishes this entanglement to continue further I let my hands run over her shoulder to rest against her back and bunch my fingers into her school shirt to pull it free from the waistband of her skirt, finding her smooth flesh the moment it is free of it's confines.

Her fingers weave into my hair, nails lightly scratching against my scalp in a way that sends a shudder of pleasure all along my spine. Her warmth spreading across my skin, everywhere at once, bewitching me and making me thirst for more.

Uneven, panting breaths pushes through over worked nostrils, the sound pressing against my ears and the heavy sent of arousal filling the tiny, tiled room urging me forward. The buttons of her shirt slide between my fingers and blindly I push them open. Too much cloth barring me from her wondrous skin and my movements become frantic in my quest to feel it's length pressed against my torso.

Her shoes hit the floor with an audible click as she stands, her lips pulling from mine and her hands press against my chest to urge me backwards. The feeling of rejection that gathers in my chest quickly diminishes as she undoes the top two buttons of the blasted school shirt, reaches down and in one fluid movement pulls it over her head, throwing her already unruly mane into the air in a way that makes my mouth run dry with desire.

My eyes land on her breasts, seconds before my hands close over the thin layer of cotton that still binds them, listening to her perceptible, enticing gasp at the sensation. My lips land on her breastplate and her nails scrape once more across my crown in encouragement. Her black shirt is the next to fall victim to our passion and my dexterous fingers, the noise of the zip lost amongst the sonata of moans, gasps and ragged breaths. It comes loose and gravity take hold, dragging it down to pool around her feet, unnoticed by either of us.

I straighten my back and in a single motion have her lips and tongue against mine. Unable to decide between tasting her skin and breathing her breath. My hands flatten against her sides and slither southwards, inconspicuously diving under the elastic waistband of her underwear to push it from her hips and down her thighs.

Her hands are in my hair and beneath my bra, seething me with the heat of her skin. Her grasping fingers find the peak of my breast, pinching and pulling on it in perfect time with my gently rocking hips. Pressing the length of my body, snugly against her with the unconscious movement.

With my hands on her hips I encourage her to move with me when I turn and after she blindly steps on her underwear to pull them over her shoes, so she can leave them in the pile of clothes on the floor she relents to my will. Moving to where I lead her, still kissing me relentlessly and still reaching for me with her greedy grasping fingers. Adjusting my grip on her hips, so her slightly protruding pelvic bones drop neatly into the creases of my palm I push against her, forcing her to topple backwards. She shows trust in my actions by sucking on my lower lip, keeping her eyes closed but betrays her discomfort by a sound of either surprise or protest born in the back of her throat and removing her hands from my skin so they can rest on the porcelain rim of the basin, which is now pressing into the small of her back.

Quickly I step yet further into her personal space, my trouser covered thigh slipping between her naked ones effortlessly, the unique angle I have pushed her into juts her hips forward and as I lean over her and I can feel her heated sex press against the top of my limb, her pelvis twitching upon contact in an attempt to gain more friction against the fabric.

My lips move from hers to trail a line of moisture over her chin and down her throat, when I reach the hollow at it's base the ghost of teeth press against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. Next I find the curve of her still covered breast with both my hands and my tongue, not having the patience to remove the garment I enclose the globes in my hands for only a moment before my knees bend pulling me to the floor to kneel upon the tiles at her spread feet.

My eyes trail the length of her body, taking no small amount of pride in the flushed appearance of her skin and the fine layer of perspiration that covers her from head to toe. Our gazes meet over her heaving chest as I silently seek the permission we both know I have no need of, not when she looks upon me in such a wanton way, her eyes darkening to such an extent you would swear they were black, not the soulful chocolate brown I have come to love.

Her fine wiry pubic hair touches my chin as she presses forwards, not able to voice what we desire from each other and in many ways words are no longer needed between us in these intimate entanglements. Her plea, although silent is well received and I press forward locking my eyes with hers in silent challenge, letting my chin pass through the thin layer of hair to guide me to her aching centre without the use of my sight, her grip on the brim of the sink tightening with each inch that I move until her knuckles turn white with the strain.

The moment I have found my goal my lips enclose around the smallest bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex and she is the first to break eye contact. Throwing her head back so her hair falls further down her back and disappears into the bowl of the basin, her covered breasts pushed towards the celling and her hot flesh presses tighter against my face. The cry of passion spilling from her lips, a wordless appeal for yet more of my attention.

Happily noting that in this position I no longer have to consider my placement so that I am able to breath, as the angle of her body gives me more than enough room to do so. Now I am free to fully concentrate on her pleasure. The moment I pull a light suction against the nerves and press my tongue forward to press against them her sent of arousal intensifies. The musky aroma stinging my nostrils and worming it's way into my conscious mind until it makes my head foggy and my eyes roll in their sockets, the sent hitting the pit of my desire with as much effectiveness as the short cries of passion falling unhindered from Hermione's lips with every breath she releases.

One palm rests comfortably on her outer thigh, massaging the quivering muscles beneath the skin. The other coasts along the line of my chin to press two of my fingers deep inside of her and she lets me know how close to release she is by bunching a hand into a fist through the locks of my hair, pulling it at the roots, provoking an almost painful sting across my scalp.

I have only to curl my fingers inside of her and every muscle in her tenses under my touch, shuddering and straining in her release. Her thighs clamping closed in an effort to expel me from the hypersensitive flesh, but does little more than hold me to her so I am able to prolong the orgasm as it explodes throughout her body. For a moment she forgets how to breath, stilling to such an extent that the tiny noises she has been making from the back of her throat cease, held back by the knot that has coiled deep in her windpipe.

One orgasm swiftly gives way to a second and the pressure holding back her rapid breaths breaks, the cry of pleasure assaulting my ears and running the length of my spine to stab at my own arousal, where I can feel it already beginning to spill forth and slide down my inner thighs. Her pelvis begging to thrust against my face with abandon, her legs going lax only enough to permit me the room to continue my ministrations and drive her again and again to the hight of passion.

After a third climax she losses the hold on my hair, pushing against my forehead so I am unable to continue, not able to stand even one more sweep of my tongue against her sensitive flesh. Slowly I remove my intruding fingers from her depths. I stand to pull her, breathless and shuddering into the circle of my arms, letting her rest her boneless body against my chest, drawing support from my solid stance so she does not crumple to the floor in a mass of trembling limbs.

She curls her head against my chest to tuck her crown under my chin, having no mind to suppress the giggles that have slowly begun to take hold of her. Although the reason for such good humour eludes me, the sound of her laughter brings a smile to my lips as I stoke my palms in soothing circles across her back, waiting patiently for her to recover enough to form speech. "Oh God." She says in a loud breathless whisper, her fingers clutching at my side and upper arm to hold herself steady. "The things you do to me."

I make a sound of agreement and approval against her hair as I drop a kiss to her crown, then tighten my arms around her to pull her from the small bathroom. "Come on." I say as a gently spoken command, steeping back and guiding her out of the room, over to her bed where she takes a seat. Immediately flopping back to the mattress, her arms thrown high above her head in a highly enticing pose.

Resisting her provocative body I take to my knees a second time and quietly unlace her shoes to remove them. She is quiet for several moments and does not make any protest when I lift her feet from the floor, turn her body and place them on the bed. I frown once at her white bra, the last remaining garment to hide her skin from my appreciative gaze. But with her back presssed against the sheets in such a way I am incapable to do much about it at present. "I'm sure we were talking about something." She says and when I lift my eyes to search her face she has her hands folded behind her head and a questioning eyebrow raised.

It was foolish of me to think that a gratifying, meeting of flesh would deter her from wading through my secrets for very long. "I'm sure it wasn't important."

She pushes herself up to rest on her elbows, reaching out to draw me into a chaste kiss with an hand against my cheek. "Please sweetheart," She begins when her forehead rests against mine, her voice pleading. "If you can't speak to me then will you at least talk to someone. Anyone."

I pull back sharply, my pupils dashing back and forth as I search her face, which shows me nothing but confusion. "You're the second person to ask me that today." I try to explain, my brow still furrowed trying to decide if Snape might have pulled Hermione aside to question her. However I find it had to believe that she would use his exact wording if that were the case.

She only smiles and pulls at my arm that is supporting me against the bed. "We can't both be wrong."

I narrow my eyes at her for just a moment the relent to her gentle tugging, allowing her to pull me along side her. As soon as my back touches the mattress she reaches behind her back to remove that last scrap of fabric and throws it off the side of the bed. Raising her eyebrows once when she meets my questioning look and proceeds to pull herself over me, one knee landing on either side of my hips, hands pressed to the mattress beside each of my ears. Leaning over me in such a provocative way she still feels the need to continue the conversation. Something of which I thought we had left behind in the bathroom. "Please, promise me you'll find someone you trust enough to talk to."

"I do trust you." I implore, not comfortable with the implication of her words.

The small smile that spreads across her face holds no accusation nor malice and succeeds in pushing down the irate knot working it's way up my throat from the pit of my belly. "Not with this." She takes a moment to adjust her legs, letting her weight rest on her bent thighs as my pelvic bone. "And that's fine." She catches the disbelieving look on my face the moment my muscles bunch into it. "Honestly. You don't need to tell me every little thing about you. Not if you don't want to. But..." She leans back still further until she is sitting high and astride me, her own fingers trailing the length of her thighs, her body holding me to the bed at my back so I cannot escape the discussion. The tip of her tongue touches her top lip for a moment in deep thought, her words being carefully orchestrated behind her eyes so I have no hope of misinterpreting her. "You're not as unaffected by things as you try to make out." She holds her hand to silence me as I begin to protest. "I can see it. Not always I know but you can't just bottle everything up."

Defeated I meet her stare for a long moment. "Why not?"

"Because you'll explode." She says with all seriousness. "Find someone."

"Alright." I relent, sighing in frustration, my mind already working over the possibilities and any way that I can convince her that I am speaking to someone about these things, without actually revealing anything.

The smile she pulls across her face lights the entire room. "Thank you." She leans down reaches between us to pull the button of my trousers open and proceeds to show me how truly grateful she is long into the night.


	24. Chapter 24: In Times of Need

Chapter 24

Charcoal black eyes regard me over a long crooked nose for many heavy moments before the potion's master begins to speak. "You are looking better today."

I lean back in my seat, crossing my arms across my chest and pull a smile across my face that drips of self satisfaction. "I am."

He makes a sound of reprisal in the base of his throat, taking the back of the seat in front of my desk in his long, bony fingers and turns it on the spot. "You also look very pleased with yourself." He says pulling his robes tighter around his waist as he takes a seat.

"Oh, I am Professor." I assure him.

Three days it has taken, three agonising days and although black spots are starting to appear in my peripheral vision and my head is pounding so hard I'm beginning to think a banshee has taken up residence. Not only content with relentless, nerve grating screams but also has found a sledgehammer and as developed a hobby of bashing it against any part of my skull it can find. Putting all that pain aside, I have managed to sit through a full hour of my potions lesson and the achievement is so gratifying I can't help but gloat over it.

The smells still sting my nostrils and make my eyes water but I have found a place on the castle grounds that has desensitised me to the acrid stench of this room, at least to a small extent. The answer was so simple, so accessible that it was hard to see why I had been unable to think of it until prompted, by Strix's delivery of my customary letter from Dale last Tuesday morning.

Excrement. Mass amounts of owl excrement.

Far to the west of the castle, stands the Owlery. Hundred of school owls, living together in a single coop. Not to mention the student's personal and family owls that will often take up temporary residence after a long flight or to await responses from the students who have received important letters from their parents. Birds being birds they hardly have special facilities when they need to relieve themselves. Filch does clean the place out once a week but no amount of cleansing potion and vigorous scrubs of his hard bristled broom will completely remove the stomach churning malodour, which emits from the tower.

The first time I approached the place I was unable to go within thirty feet of the front door, before I feel to my knees and ungracefully, empted the contents of my stomach all over the grass. The many long hours have I spend, gradually getting closer and closer to the building has paid off and I have been able to sit through my entire school day without either passing out or falling to a seizure. So I think I have a right to be just a little pleased with myself.

"Yes, well." He leans back in his seat crossing his legs at the knee. "Don't let it go to your head."

"Perish the thought, sir." We share a smile at my words, my good mood today appearing to be infectious to the potions master. "It that all you wished to speak to me about?" I ask, he has once more kept me behind after class and has done little more than state the obvious. While I admit on at least some level I am pleased that he has noticed such a change in my demeanour to call attention to it is uncharacteristic of Snape.

"No." He says, the slight upturn of his lips falling along with his gaze to the floor. "How is school life treating you?"

He's prodding me for a response. I can see it plain as day in his body language and immediately my mood drops like a stone and my suspicion raises. He is inferring that he knows something which I know I am not privy to and is trying to ascertain if I am knowledgeable about it before asking any direct questions. Years of training kicks in, watching every line of his face as I remain quiet. Any show of discomfort at my refusal to answer his very basic question. I count ten heartbeats before I see the crows feet at the side of his eyes twitch, it's barely noticeable but it's still there. "Is there something I should know Professor?" I train my voice to an even pitch as I ask.

His colourless black gaze meets my ice blue for only a moment before he relents. "I am uncertain." He draws out slowly, still studying me for a reaction that I refuse to give. "There has been some..." he takes a deep breath moving his eyes from mine as he searches for an appropriate word. "...tension. Between the Headmaster and our resident High Inquisitor. It was very recently come to my attention that it revolves around you."

Umbridge. It always has to be Umbridge. "Me? Why?" I notice the weaver in my voice at the mention of the vile woman but can do little to halt it.

"In truth. I was hoping you would already know. I fear the reason will become apparent all to soon."

"And this worries you?"

"That depends wholly, on who won the argument." For a long moment we are both silent. Both weighing the implications of this discovery. The headmaster I am almost certain has my best interests at heart. This would inevitably cause him and Umbridge to butt heads over my continued presence in the school and any privileges I should receive. Although she has already been able to remove many of my privileges along with my prefect status there are other, much more fundamental rights she may legally be able to prevent me from receiving. Such as being able to walk unescorted through the hallways and attend meals with my classmates. "If anything were to come about Miss Desay, I have little need to remind you that my office door is always open to you."

"I understand." I say with a nod to appease him. "Was there anything else?" I'm itching to get to my very small broom cupboard and down at least two drafts of the potions I have already prepared for this very expected headache.

For a moment he looks disappointed that I cannot shed light on the disagreement between the two high ranking teachers and looks torn on whether or not to question me further. "No, That will be all."

"Thank you." I try to remain polite even as I am three steps away from my seat in my rush to escape the room.

The large oak door closes softly with a click behind me ,which in turn provokes Hermione to lift her head from the stone floor where she has casually been pacing along it. Her eyes show me worry as they meet mine. "What did he want?"

I just shrug at her. "He just wanted to see how I am." I say, I have no concrete information to get her with regards to what else we discusses so I see no reason to concern her further until something comes of it. "I did it." I then say triumphantly, effectively cutting off any further queries.

"Yes you did." Her arm is suddenly around my waist and she is pulling mine across her shoulders in a loose embrace, pushing herself up onto her tip toes to press her lips against my cheek in her own cerebration of my achievement. "Well done. Does this mean I might see more of you over the holidays?"

"I don't know yet." I confess my free hand running across my forehead as her words remind me of the unrelenting pain currently running through it. "I still need some more practice."

"It's end of term." She begins to whine, later she will refuse feverishly that her voice had taken on such a tone. "You have more than two weeks until the next potions lesson. You can afford to take a little break."

"If you say so." I answer, with the two week holiday I'm certain I will be able to find enough time to spend with her and fit in my visits to the Owlery to my schedule.

She falls into an easy one sided conversation, telling me all the things she wants to be able to to with the time we will have over the next fortnight. What spells Harry has said he wants to cover in the up and coming Dumbledore's Army meetings. For once my persistence silence is either not noticed or not addressed. She is content to mount her own excitement at the thought of spending time in the company of her friends.

With an inconspicuous tug of her shoulders I am able to guide her past my room on our way into the Great Hall and I retrieve my pain medication.

When we finally enter the Hall for dinner much of the student body has already beaten us to it. The sounds of happy chatter, enthusiastic chewing and cutlery scraping across crockery reaches my ears many minuets before we turn into the Entarce Hall.

Once again Hermione takes hold of my hand in her iron grip and leads me down towards the Gryffindor table. It has been weeks since I have heard even a whisper from the Slytherin table but she still insists on trying to physically restrain me as we enter the Great Hall, just in case I am to raise to the bait should it be offered.

As we sit Ginny throws me one of her more mischievous grins before turning her attention to Hermione. "Hey, Sugar-bun." Her voice so sweet it drips syrup.

Hermione sighs, in obvious discomfort. "You just have an obsession with sugar today."

Ginny's mouth falls open to show her displeasure. "I've only come up with two sugar related names today." She has come true to her word. Each and every time she addresses Hermione with another potential nickname on her lips. The first day it was nowhere near this subdued, however Hermione was able to last until well after sun set before she started screaming at both of us, wanting to know what was going on and why on earth Ginny felt the need to call her Doll-face. Come to think of it, it might have been that particular name that finally tipped my girlfriend over the edge.

I remained very, very quiet as Ginny stuttered her reply to that particular explosion, my smirk growing as she verbally ran herself deeper and deeper into the ground. Right up until she turned to me and told Hermione it was all my fault because I wouldn't settle on a term of endearment for her. Not surprisingly that confused the brunette even further, until I was able to calm her down enough to explain the situation.

I remember very distinctly that she looked first from me, to Ginny then back again, with a very baffled look before throwing her hands up in the air trying a full two times to form coherent speech, then just walking away. Something that Ginny very quickly took as some peculiar form of encouragement and redoubled her efforts.

Hermione's accusing glare hits me the moment I take my seat and I wonder why it is the earth never opens up and swallows you whole when you want it to. "If you ever call me anything with 'Sugar' in it. Ginny's getting detention."

My head tilts to the side as I regard Ginny, her fork loaded with mash potato and carrots held almost forgotten at least three inches from her face. "What?" Her eyes open comically wide and her fork points in my direction. "Don't even thing about it Desay."

"I didn't say anything." I assure her, my attention at table and filling a goblet with pumpkin juice.

She grumbles incoherently for a moment before taking on the voice of a chastised three year old. "You were gonna."

"That is a possibility. Yes." I agree with her quickly and cast my eyes over the many foods on offer. It doesn't feel like I can stomach it today, if I had not been accompanying these two woman I would very likely have completely skipped the meal.

Just as I'm contemplating how little food I can pull onto my plate without Hermione noticing, as for some reason my eating habits are of great interest to her, both Ron and Harry sit down on either side of Ginny.

"Hi Sweetie." Harry greets before he has even bent his knees to sit.

Ron manages to wait until he is in his seat before managing to drop his grin enough to speak. "How is Bunny today?" It took less than three hours for the two boys to catch onto the game and participate, much to Hermione's annoyance.

"Bunny? Really?" Hermione asks managing to smile at the red headed boy and at the same time show her distaste for the suggestion.

Ginny drops her fork to the plate with a clatter as she jumps to her older brother's defence. "No. Be fair to Ron." Her hand cut through the air as she speaks. "'Bunny' is a fair shout. 'Cause you two are at it like rabbits most of the time anyway."

I have to cover my lower face with my whole hand and hold my breath to hide my amusement. Hermione on the other hand sits with her mouth hanging lose at the joint and steadily the red tinge of embarrassment, crawls up her face to engulf it entirely. "How...? When...?" Everyone else is completely silent as she starts to splutter. No one can quite render Hermione speechless the way Ginny can. Then suddenly her deep brown eyes, usually filled with such compassion, now filled with the blaze of fury are trained on me. "Have you two been talking about that?"

"Me?" How? In the name of all of the Gods can this be my fault?

She narrows her eyes at me for a moment, studying my demeanour to the finest detail.

"And this." Ginny states, that arrogant smirk that was once upon my features adorning her face. "Is why we play the game." I open my mouth to at least attempt to chastise her over her never ending amusement at my discomfort when a black bird lands, non to gently upon her head. Pushing her chin closer to the table on impact. "What the hell?"

The black owls presence is more than enough to warrant a confused frown. "Strix?" He ruffles his feathers and throws me the dirtiest look his wide brown eyes can manges over his full beak. Glaring at me as if it is down to me that he has had to make the journey from Dale's to Hogwarts twice in one day. With precision I would be proud of in myself, he flicks his head so the large packet held in his bill flies across the table and lands on my plate with a clatter. He gives a hoot of aggravation and pushes against Ginny's head to take flight.

As my gaze follows the displeased bird over our heads I catch the eyes of Dolores Umbridge. Her bulbous features blown up to twice their size and her face beat red to show her fury. Her eyes like daggers against mine. Could this have anything to do with her mysterious dispute she has been having with Dumbledore?

The envelope rips easily and as I upturn the letter into my hands several items slip through my grasp and fall the to empty plater. Three of which I recognise instantly as golden galleons. A pieces of white card with orange strips along both the top and bottom. Another very thin slip of paper, greens and blues blending together across the surface to make the shape of a elderly woman on its right hand side.

Curiosity overtakes me and rather than open the letter, which is very likely going to explain the situation to me, I forgo that operation and place it over my fork. Picking up the strange thin paper to study the elderly woman's face. Turning it over it shows me the picture of an even older woman next to what appears to be a scene of a dinner table overloaded with children, the most curious part is that the pictures are completely stationary, no matter how hard I stare not one soul moves a single muscle. "What is this?" I ask.

Hermione clears her throat close to my ear before answering. "That's a five pound note."

Well, that makes everything about as clear as mud. "And what is a pound?" My stare leaves the small paper to meet hers.

She smiles as she sighs. "Sometimes I forget you're a pure blood." Just as I'm trying to decide whether to be insulted or not she snakes an arm around my back, pulling herself closer so she can rest her chin against my shoulder. "Pounds are muggle money. And this..." She takes the slip of card from the plate and turns it in her fingers. "Looks like a train ticket."

"I thought your brother was a pure blood too?" Ron ask, the change in events not deterring him from his meal, three pork chops land on his plate in testament to this.

"He is." I say, lifting the letter from the table and opening it. Only for more items to land on my lap, one of which is a very official looking document. All are quickly discarded along with the artefacts. "He lives in the muggle world." the distraction is evident in my voice as I quickly read over the very short letter.

Jay,

This may be a bit out of the blue but you're coming to see me. Everything has been finalised today, I didn't say anything I didn't want to get you're hopes up. That Bat Faced Toad Monster tried to keep you in school indefinitely, which is why I couldn't get you down for the Winter Solstice. So you're just going to have to make do with The Thesmophoria.

I'd come and get you but I have things to do on Saturday, (he has drawn a star here to indicate that the sentence continues in the margin, it reads. 'Besides, you're old enough and ugly enough to get down here yourself.)

Enclosed you should find some wizard and muggle money. A Train ticket, three maps, some detailed instructions and a legal document allowing you to leave the school grounds and into my care. (Once more he has continued his sentence in the margin. 'That last one was not easy to get so you take good care of it.)

See you Saturday.

Dee.

The letter crumples between my fingers and I place my closed fist against my open mouth. He wants me to visit him, in two days. I should refuse, there just isn't enough time for me to make any preparations.

"What's the matter?" Hermione's concerned voice greats me seconds before her worried eyes are in my view.

"Dale. He..." I pause, pulling out the creases I have put into the single sheet of paper to scan me eyes over the first paragraph again. "He wants me to visit him."

"That's great." She says enthusiastically, until she sees what must be a sour look on my face. "Isn't it?"

"It's not that simple." I answer her with a distracted tone to my voice. I can't refuse his invitation. Not only would it be rude, after all the trouble he has gone to but it will also mean I will be passing up an chance to get a very subtle one up on Umbridge. Such an opportunity does not come to pass everyday. However, under normal circumstances I would undergo weeks of premeditation before leaving the castle to visit my home. Nothing suggests that anything would be different should I go to my brother's for over a week. I have never tried to accomplish it in such a short space of time but I find myself willing to try. Just to see that look of rage pass across the High Inquisitor's face once more.

"He's you're family." Hermione starts, everyone else at the table remaining conspicuously quiet. "Why isn't that simple."

My eyes dart upwards, scanning across the Slytherin table, passing over face after face in search of just one. I don't have the presence of mind to try and be evasive while in the mists of my search, which borders on frantic. "You wouldn't understand." There were always many way to install order in my household, the worst of which I am able to prepare myself against. My father would all to often use non-violent methods, withholding of luxuries being one of his favourites. Lavishness often consisting of sunlight and food. The latter I am able to protect myself against to a certain extent, by ingesting and gathering as much as I am able to sustain me through any holiday period.

Her hand lands over mine but I pay it no heed. "Make me understand."

I shake my head, already beginning to feel my back straighten in defence. "Not about this."

"How am I supposed to understand if you keep closing off?"

"Well ask me something else!" I snap back, my voice raised in volume. Carrying the weight of a command not a request as it should have been. My blue eyes turn to hers and I can feel an inferno of emotion behind them, which she must see as she shrinks away from my gaze. Her fear stings my nostrils and my insides melt. "I'm sorry. I..." I come up short. Almost, I almost let go. My mental walls have become so thin around this woman it terrifies me. I had not noticed until this moment how easy it would be to close my eyes and let the words spill forth. That will not do, not with the impending presence of family. I have only a single full day to build them back to immeasurable heights, brick by brick.

Forcing my gaze downcast I quickly and decisively push every document and item back into the envelope from whence it came, then push it deep into the concealed pocket on the inside of my robes.

The eyes of my new friends bore into me, burning me with questions and accusations. My outburst may not have disrupted the rest of the student body but these four are attuned enough with my natural demeanour to know that something is amiss.

I pass my palm once over my brow, feeling the cold sweat prickle my skin reminding how little time I have until my departure and that I am not in the correct frame of mind to evade all the questions that will soon be fired at me one after another. This in turn means that I must alter the order of my plans.

Without uttering a word, I stand from the table, casting one last glance over my house mates. Assuring myself that the person I am searching for is most defiantly not in the Great Hall and turn to leave. Only to be stopped my a pressure against my wrist, which only becomes tighter as I try to pull away. I feel my jaw clench and my eyelid twitch in irritation at the obstruction. Consciously I wipe my face clean of any and all emotion, before I turn my gaze down to Hermione.

Even though I am certain I have schooled every single muscle in my face, keeping them unmoving and ridged in an expression of disinterest, she sees something. What that is I am uncertain but the moment that her gaze falls to the floor, a look of pure defeat pulling at the lines of her features, so does her grip on my arm. She says nothing as she turns back to the table, shooting a look across it's surface, that renders the occupants opposite completely mute. For some curious reason, I am equal parts grateful and disheartened by her actions but do not permit myself the indulgence of analysing it further.

As I make my way between the excited bodies all around me I tune out the hushed conversation that begins immediately after my departure between the four friends. Choosing instead to focus my attention on the crowd, until their voices are swallowed entirely by the incessant din.

The guilt hits my chest the moment I am alone and I find myself in the uncommon situation where I am entirely unable to ignore the feeling. I knew before I even drew breath that it was unwise to raise my voice at Hermione. Especially when she is so concerned and primarily has my interests at heart. I know and accept that I have wronged her but this feeling of regret that I am not only incapable but disinclined to push to the back of my thoughts is a new experience. Only weeks ago I would have simply insincerely apologized for the transgression and moved on. Today I reply the interaction in my minds eye, over and over again. Picking it apart, not only trying to pinpoint the movement I made to make Hermione give in to my will so easily but also just to berate myself for my own behaviour.

As I slowly begin to descend into the dudgeons I shake my head to dispel the images. If I have to go deep into the serpents nest it would be foolhardy not to do so without a clear head.

The password for the Slytherin common room as not changed since my last visit and that in itself surprises me. I had thought they would wish to keep me out of the community by any means necessary. All it would take if the consent of all the prefects, a decision I no longer have any influence over.

As the heavy wooden door closes with an audible click behind me, melting back into the wall it strikes me that it is possible that my continued access to the common room is not merely negligence on the part of the house prefects but rather the foundations of some sort of trap laid for me. It would not be unheard-of, a half bread like me lulled into a false sense of security only for the serpents jaws to slab shut. In a place where the highest values are the pureness of your blood I would do well to keep my senses sharp.

With this in mind I try not to draw any comfort from the fact that the room is sparsely populated. No more than three students all studying in secluded silence, taking advantage of the evening meal in such a way. Not one raises their head to acknowledge my presence but I refuse to delude myself with even so much as a passing thought that my entrance has gone unnoticed.

I do however have a small amount of solace in their continued disinterest and with steps so light not even I can hear the footfalls, press further into the room. A third year clears his throat to my right, adjusting his position in the high backed armchair and all of my muscles tense for combat. My hand pushes under my robe to rest against my wand protruding from my back pocket and as I move I position my head to keep him in my peripheral vision. It is unlikely that he is only uncomfortable in his position, so I take the movement to be a test of my reactions. If that is the case it becomes apparent that he is disconcerted by the response as he presses his nose further into the open book and turning away from me as I pass.

I manage to make it to the spiral staircase and down into the dormitories without any further incident. My quarry is proving to be very illusive and I find myself wishing that I had thought to check in the library or the Quidditch pitch before risking the wrath of Slytherin house but the urgency that had been running through my veins prompted me to seek him out at the most likely of locations. Unfortunately, this happens to be one of the more dangerous parts of the castle for me.

Three levels down and I push the door open into the living space of the sixth year boys. Releasing a breath that could almost be alleviation when I find Adrian Pucey alone in the room. He's standing over his bed, two piles of clothes thrown upon it, one in a haphazard pile and the other pristinely folded. He is currently in the process of folding a starched white school shirt when he lifts his gaze to meet mine. "Desay." He says with a gracious nod before retuning to his task.

Noting that both his voice and his eyes only held a shadow of disinterest, not the contempt that I had been expecting I step further into the room and close the door behind me. "Pucey." I return the greeting making a show of thrusting my fists into my trouser pockets so I do not appear threatening.

If there were such a commendation Adrian would easily be crowned the most noble of all of Slytherin house. Though I hasten to add that such a title would not be difficult to obtain or respected once it was but it is the only reason I have placed myself alone with this man. Had anyone else in my house been in possession of what I needed I would have found a much less direct way to obtain it.

Slowly I make my way closer, not wanting to be overheard by potential eavesdroppers at the door. "You know. I'm certain we have house elves to do that for you." I say, eyeing the meticulous way he folds his clothing.

"We do." He doesn't even raise his eyes from the task. "But this is humbling, I kind of like it." He presses a neatly folded pair of trousers atop the pile and meets my gaze. "Doesn't your golden girl do this sort of thing?"

I let a grin touch my features to show I have noticed his restraint at using the term 'mudblood'. "Point taken." In point of fact, with how hard Hermione campaigns for house elf rights I'm almost surprised she doesn't march down to the kitchens and make our meals herself. Not wanting to either drop myself into an argument or give her any ideas I have not voiced this opinion.

We are silent for several minuets, each of us waiting for the other to start. This is how many conversations take place in the presence of Slytherins, neither party wanting to start out on the back foot by putting their thoughts forward first. It is a far cry from the incessant Ginny Weasley and her endless ramblings but I find myself dropping back on such habits as if I had never forsaken them

I know that I cannot sound to desperate but also that I do not have the luxury of time to stand and play this game long into the night. So once a respectable silence passed between us I relent that I must be the first to speak. "You know what I want Adrian."

"Yes." He says almost curtly. "And you know I can't do that."

"We have an arrangement." I say. Trying to keep any sort of insistence out of my voice, it would be nothing but detrimental.

"We used to." Another pair of trousers land on the pile and he rests his palm heavily upon it, rising his gaze to show I have his full attention. "When you were human." He takes a deep breath and walks around his bed, tilting to rest his shoulder on one of the posts, he smiles a short snort of laughter passing between his lips. "Used to be you couldn't be seen dealing with me. Now I can't be seen dealing with you."

"It is a risk, I'll grant you that. Yet here I stand." I cross my arms and mirror his posture, letting a thoughtful look cross over my face. "Perhaps I would offer to compensate such a risk. Then we might be able to come to some sort of agreement."

His face twitches and already I know he will bend. I have mentioned money, something that is much more important to this boy than blood. "Double."

If I weren't in such a hurry I'd haggle as it stands I reply much to quickly so he is unable to draw breath and change his mind. "Deal."

He is on his knees and opening his trunk before I am able to reach into my pocket for the envelope from Dale. I fish for the coins so he cannot see it's full content and remove two of the gold galleons and throw them within the confines of my hand so he can hear them rattle against each other.

As is customary, he wraps my purchase in parchment and hands it over the same instant I drop the coins into his open hand. I nod in his direction, I see no need to stop being polite now I have what I came for. "Thank you."

I have my hand on the doorknob before he speaks again. "Jamie." My given name on his lips grasps at my full attention instantly. "I won't make a deal again. It's to risky for me. You need this stuff again, you find someone else. Is that clear?"

My eyes rake up and down his body, it is likely I could defeat him in a duel if I were to be discourteous and things were to turn violent. However I have no way of knowing how many more students have returned to the common room after their evening meal. Only knowing for certain that I would be outnumbered, the only variable is exactly how overwhelming that number would be. With this in mind I bow my head, taking on the role of the subservient. "As crystal." with one hand wrapped around my precious parcel and the over touching my wand I exit the common room. Even making it all the way back to the ground floor and into my quarters without seeing a single soul. One would almost think that my luck were returning after abandoning me for so long.


	25. Chapter 25: Resolving Chaos

Chapter 25

My precious cargo lands on my old withered writing desk moments before my hands land either side of it. My gaze heavy on the folded parchment, which was pristine when I left Adrian's dormitory, now crumbled by the tight grip and sweaty palms. My breath heavy, rapid yet shallow enough for black blotches to fill my vision and make me light headed.

Shakily I run my hand over my forehead and down my face, my fingers pushing my eyes closed as I try to control my breathing. "Perfect. Now I'm panicking." I berate myself and take a long deep breath to push down the cold hand of fear which is starting to crawl along the back of my neck, forcing all the hairs along it to stand to attention.

It is a fair assessment that I have been in distress since the moment I opened Dale's letter, although I have not permitted myself to address that fact until this moment, far away from the curious eyes of both friend and foe. Only now will I let myself notice my trembling hands, my rapidly changing thoughts and the cold sweat, which has erupted across my body. Sliding down my spine and chilling me to the bone.

Violently I pull my chair under me and take a seat, resting my elbows on the surface of the desk so I can comfortably grip the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. I must calm down, I have to think clearly and I cannot do that when in the mists of a blind panic. There are several things that I must address and I need to quiet myself to an extent to list and order them appropriately.

Flattening my hand against the parcel I have obtained, I tug at the bindings and unfold the crumpled parchment. My purchase almost making me smile, just seeing it is enough to calm my racing heartbeat. Adrian Pucey is one year my senior and more importantly a half blooded wizard. He has access to things from the muggle world, that many of us witches can only dream of. Such as a non perishable source of food. His mother will very often send him packages, usually containing things he refers to a flapjacks, nothing more elaborate than oats held together with syrup. The first time I saw such a thing I thought him insane. The foodstuff so stodgy that the feeling of fullness once consumed, lingers uncomfortably deep in your stomach for hours upon end. Until I realised it's potential.

For so many years I accepted my fathers reign over my discipline, my well-being and to a large extent my life. It was only after I started school that I found how unorthodox and cruel his methods with me were. I soon discovered that the worst any of my classmates ever faced was to be sent to bed without supper. Comparing that to my own life, where I have spent days locked in a cold, pitch black wardrobe my father had cleared out in one of the spare rooms for just such a punishment, only provided with the minimal measurement of liquid in order to survive. The thought of a single missed meal barely seemed like any sort of reprimand.

Over the winter holidays of my first year at Hogwarts, I returned home. The freedom of speech this school provided for me must have left some sort of impression because I distinctly remember spending much of that fortnight alone in the dark, due to one discretion or another. When I returned to the warm, comfortable safety of this castle, with a hunger so painful it was crippling. I vowed and I pledged first to every God I could bring offerings to, then every other I could call upon by name, in my faith or any other that I would never put myself in that position again. It took a lot of trial and error but over the years I have developed a system that for one goes unnoticed by all others and also ensures I would survive if I were to be locked away for such a time again.

There are several parts to the process, the first is obtaining these muggle snacks that takes months to spoil to such an extent that they are inedible. They have proved useful on more than one occasion. The second is to inconspicuously increase both my attendance at mealtimes and my portion size so I might be able to gain enough weight on my normally very lean form, for my body to be able sustain itself even without the aid of the oat bars should it ever come to that.

The second of which on this occasion I do not have the time to accomplish properly, however I am lucky enough to have Hermione drag me to at least two meals a day and watch me like a hawk until I eat enough to smother her concern. I have gained body mass over the months but not nearly as much as I might need.

Pressing my fingers into my temples, counting my breaths in an attempt order my thoughts. There are so many things I must accomplish and I cannot order them without a clear head.

I need to divide up these 'flapjacks' into easily concealable pieces, to be hidden both in my luggage and about my person. When returning to my fathers care I knew the procedure by heart, I knew exactly where I could hide things without his detection. With Dale I do not, so I will need once more enter into a period of trial and error. Find where he is most unlikely to look by using every possible hiding place. At least until I learn where is the optimum location.

Then I have to apologise to Hermione. By the gods, in my frantic state I had almost forgotten how I had addressed her. How I must have hurt her with only a few careless, misguided words. There were so many better ways I could have handled that situation. Had I not been so caught up in my own terror I might have been able to calm myself and pacify her curiosity, somehow. I know it is useless to think of such things now so stop myself before I have chance to try.

I also have my friends to consider. My outburst at dinner is not something that was discrete by any stretch of the imagination. I must come up with a suitable falsehood to gloss over my actions and hopefully prevent them from questioning me any further on the matter. It dawns on my very suddenly why I have not allowed myself to become close friends with anyone until this point in my life. Although the company I must admit is favourable to endless loneness they do demand a fair portion of my time. Something that is currently in very short supply.

Then I remind myself that I also have lessons that I must attend, I will be conspicuous by my absence. Which cuts the day I had allocated myself more than in half.

Adding up all of these things I realise I am rapidly running out of time. I cannot see a spare moment between now and when I am to board a train. But I know I cannot forgo too much sleep in case that is a luxury deemed fit to be removed, a method which was rare for my father to use but not unheard of. Something I know Dale to have endured, so would know exactly how to carry it out.

The most important task at hand is to ensure my own survival. So with that in mind I pull the first of the muggle treats towards me and pull apart the plastic wrapping that they appear to be so fond of. I have never before been able to take them with me whole. The most important reason for this is that they are muggle items. My father would have recognised that instantly, which would have only prompted him to throw me into into darkness the moment I walked through the front door. I know that Dale lives within the muggle world so in turn would probably be more lenient about such things but I would rather not risk it and besides, concealment is made much simpler my reducing anything in size.

I fall back onto my old habit of readying myself, first measuring, twice the oat filled bar and then cutting the snack into exactly equal cubes before mercilessly wrapping each section in a short length of parchment. One after another I pull the snack food towards me, mindlessly slicing, wrapping and portioning it, loosing myself in the work until all other thoughts drop away from my conscious mind. It takes hours but the repetitive and mundane task does serve the purpose of calming my frayed nerves.

When I have steadily made my way through my whole hoard of food, I have precisely seventy three perfectly warped parcels, all neatly pushed into seven straight lines of ten and a smaller line of three. It is impossible to hide all that I wish to conceal and I leaned very quickly with my father that if he could not find anything he would become frustrated and his search would in turn become more invasive. So to have some of the parcels littered in my luggage that are easy to discover, will discourage any further hunt for them. For this reason I have to know the exact figure when I enter the house, so when they are discovered I can mentally check them off one by one and ration myself accordingly.

I lean back in my old chair and press the tips of my fingers into my tired eyes, pushing my head back to stretch my neck which has begun to ache with inactivity and being hunched over the low desk for so long. I have to restrain myself from trying to hide things immediately, I'm not in the correct frame of mind to conceal the parcels as I may forget where I have put them or may not be able to be creative enough with them so the whole exercise would be useless and later I will convince myself to retrieve each and every one so I might begin again.

Checking my watch I find that it is close to midnight and I know I should sleep. Should give my body an abundance of the fundamental things that it needs, even if I don't think I will be able to. Regardless I stand and ready myself for bed, lowering myself onto the thin mattress I have been provided, the loose springs digging into my back and I have to shift several times before I am comfortable enough to even think of closing my eyes.

Now my mind is my own again that heavy, suffocating blanket of guilt has once more swept over me. Reminding me that my short temper and initial fright may have very effectively driven away the one person I feel certain that I cannot currently live without. Forgetting for a moment my deep seated feelings for the woman, one must also consider that Hermione is my only contact to sustainable human interaction. Ginny may refer to me as a friend but we can only be so through our mural acquaintances. The same applies to the other two thirds of the golden trio. I have proven behind doubt that from time to time, no matter how feverishly I guard my privacy I am in need of human contact on a fundamental level. The only means I have to obtain that is through Hermione. Now my task is complete I should go to her and sooth her concern. I know this is what I should do but it is well after hours and I cannot run the risk of getting caught. Perhaps if I did not suffer with this affliction that affects me every full moon I would risk such a thing but under the circumstances, the consequences for such an indirection would be much more dire for me than any other student.

The moment I let my eyelids drift shut and I have surrendered myself to the darkness all I can see is her face. That look of pure defeat that swept across Hermione's face as she let me go at the dinner table. How did she know it would be useless to try and restrain me further? I know not a single muscle in my face even twitched to show my thoughts and yet she knew. Without words, without brooking an argument. As if she could see into me, watch my frantic thoughts as they buzzed around my head.

Throwing my legs over the side of the bed I frown at my own inability to control my thoughts and emotions. Why does that look on her face bring such sadness to my heart? Why can I not simply remove the vision of it from my mind? It's there, right in from of my eyes clouding everything and effortlessly brushing aside all my attempts to quench the feeling burning in my breast.

My eyes land on my door as I contemplate leaving the room, heading upstairs and trying to wipe that memory clean with another view of her features. It is a calculated risk. With all my time in self induced isolation I have learned many of the vast corridors through the school. There are several routes I could take which would take me down many rarely used hallways to my gaol. However these disused entries could be where Filch and the teaching staff are to patrol the most. I cannot be the only student who has stumbled across them.

My head tilts to the side for a moment and I chastise myself for my own stupidity. With my new acute senses I would be able to detect the presence of any other life form with my nose and ears, long before any eyes could fall upon me. I would only need worry about the ghosts and even then only a select few of them. Many would simply ignore me. With this new thought the odds of my being discovered, as I traipse the school long after hours drops dramatically. Still possible but highly unlikely.

However now I must ponder what reception awaits me high in the northern tower. She looked so dejected by my actions. The question raises, would she just turn me away? How much harm can I do in the attempt to patch together whatever damage I may have caused to our relationship? Now that is just simply a risk I cannot calculate. Along with the question: will it be worse if I wait until morning?

A hand grips my forehead before running the length of my face as I try to work our exactly what I should do. Not so long ago I would have cast the whole ordeal from my mind, turned over and gone to sleep, like I know I should. Now? Now I'm just a mass of emotion and it feels so crippling. I have to stamp that out, became unfeeling once more, no matter how empty that makes me. Yet I have a long train journey to be able to coach my mind into the correct frame on Saturday morning and I would much prefer that upon my return Hermione might at least be able to stand the sight of me.

I stand from the bed, my heavy heart making the decision for my very befuddled head. Stripping once more from my sleepwear I pull on a pair of loose fitted trousers, a t-shirt and a pair of socks. I am certain that I have a secondary pair of shoes in Hermione's quarters and to walk the castle without them will give me the added benefit of silent footsteps.

Now I must point out that I am not well versed with walking the hallways in the dead of night but I freely admit I had anticipated a lot more foot traffic. Not a cat, not a man, not a soul crossed my path, nothing so much as touched my nostrils on the entire journey and strangely that fact deflated me slightly. I had expected more of a challenge to await me and a higher sense of achievement once I had succeed. It matters little because whatever confidence I had gathered in the climb up the northern tower all but deserted me as I stood face to face with the imposing door leading to the Gryffindor prefect private chambers.

I open my mouth to whisper her password three times, each time closing it slowly and wonder if to simply enter would be appropriate on this occasion. I then talk myself into trying again as because of the late hour it would be highly probable than she is sleeping and I have no wish to call her from the land of dreams if the position I find myself in does not strictly dictate it.

For all the training bestowed upon me in my formative years could my father have not just for a moment explained the proper decorum for apologizing to someone who actually holds meaning in my life. The thought is foolhardy for nothing has meaning in that man's life but power.

Eventually I convince myself that turning around and heading back to the ground floor is not an option unless I am turned away. I don't think I can cope with the guilt settling over my chest until the sun rises. So upon finding some middle ground I rise my fist to the door and after holding my limb aloft for a moment I bring my knuckles down three times on the wood grain.

The door opens long before I even bein to persuade myself that I have roused her from her slumber, it opens with a violent action and light streams from inside the room and hits my sensitive eyes. I squint against the brightness and can only make out the silhouetted form for a few heartbeats. When my vision clears I almost wish I had remained ignorant of her facial expression. The deep shadows under her eyes show her exhaustion and her eyebrows pulled tight into the centrer of her face shows me how angry she is.

I remain quiet, watching as her eyes rake over me once before meeting mine and she turns back into the room, pushing the door further open as she does. I take the action to be a invite and cautiously step into the room, closing the door as softly as I can behind me.

Her back is ridged and her arms are held tightly around her stomach, both poses contradicting each other. Giving the feeling of both highly agitated and deeply insure.

"I'm..." My voice cracks with inactivity and I pause to clear my throat. "I'm sorry."

She takes a deep breath, not taking her eyes from mine. "What for?"

I feel the frown ghost over my forehead. She seeks validation for my misdeeds? "I should not have spoken to you in that manor."

Her jaw clenches under her skin and she deliberately looks away from me. "No you shouldn't." She concedes the point but I can see from her demeanour that she wished to hear something else from me.

I step a little closer but her scolding look stops me in my tracks. "There's something else I've done that angers you."

Her eyes narrow and the muscles around her eyes bunch together, giving the impression she is holding herself back as she swallows. "How very perceptive of you." Her voice can easily be described as snide and it cuts, harshly across my chest.

I am suddenly beginning to wish I had spent a sleepless night alone and waited until morning. "I'm sorry." I finally implore.

"What for?" She says again, the muscles in her shoulders beginning to shake with retained fury.

I quickly run out of words, not understanding her state of distress and if I honestly thought it would help my cause. I would swallow my stubborn pride drop to my knees right here and now and beg her forgiveness. "Anything." I say knowing that have little hope of stumbling upon the correct answer. "Everything."

"It doesn't work that way!" She shouts, her eyes close instantly and she takes a few deep calming breaths amidst the silence that follows. Her gaze is still burning when she lifts her eyelids but she has managed to calm herself enough to stop her trembling muscles. "I've been up here for hours. Trying to figure out what I did wrong, how I upset you. Why you lashed out and then closed off and I keep coming up blank."

That would certainly explain her ridged demeanour. "You didn't do anything."

"I know that. I've been over it countless times in my head and I know that, I do but you lashed out at me and then you closed yourself off completely. Stormed off to God knows where and I have no idea what is going on." One of her hands pulls free and with each word she move it sharply up and down. "I want to help you." She takes a deep breath and chews for a moment on her bottom lip, waiting. For what I am uncertain. Her face softens even if her posture remains ridged and she seeks out my eyes with her own. "I love you, Jamie."

My eyes close against the words and I swallows on reflex, awaiting her to finish her sentence. Stealing myself against however she might continue. Throughout my life, words of love have always been the prequel to a back handed complement. 'I love you, but that is no way to act in front of your superiors. I love you, but why can't you just be better?' I see no reason for why this instance would differ from any other.

I hear as she steps closer to me, her eyes burning into my flesh as she studies me. "What's the matter?" Her voice is so soft, so consoling that I fall into it's depths and draw comfort from it. Still awaiting the harsh words that must follow. Yet they don't, not even when I pry open my tightly closed eyes. Her brown pools hold such compassion, that I feel a lump forming in my chest and steadily rising up my throat. "Do you love me?" The anger is slowly beginning to drain from her body, being replaced by a deep sorrow that I cannot bare.

I nod dumbly at her for a moment. "More than I have words to express." I slowly admit, after failing in such an endeavour.

Quickly she uncrosses her arms and drops her face to scrub her hands against in violently. "I just..." Her voice is obscured by her fingers until she snaps them to her side, looking at me, her eyes swiftly becoming bloodshot and shining with unshed tears. "I don't understand." Her whole body language instantly snaps back to that of pure rage. I know her behaviour and words are born of frustration but I cannot fathom a way in which to soothe her without dropping the mental barriers that I know I should even now be trying to be rebuild. "Today at dinner, you shut down. I watched it." Even from this distance I can hear her teeth grinding as she holds her speech, taking a deep breath of which I know was meant to be calming. "You retreated into yourself so far that I couldn't even see you any more."

My head tilts to the side at her words, my interest peaked. So it was not a feeling she saw on my face it was the absence of them. Could it be that she did not argue with my departure because she did not think there was anything left of me to argue with? "I'm..." I cut my apology short, knowing that the simple words cannot be nearly enough and yet I can't explain either. "I can't change who I am."

"I never asked you to." She says through gritted teeth and instantly I know that I should not have made that comment. "I know that you're very introspective but I've never seen you like that before. Never and it scared me."

I take a step forward, my chest filling with relief when she holds her ground. "That was not my intention." I pause, watching her eyebrows rise in silent question. Begging, pleading with me to continue. "I can't... I'm just not..." Words completely desert me and I have no way to validate my actions. I don't want to twist the truth with her and I most certainly don't want to lie but I fear her reaction to anything else. "It's complicated."

"Make it simple." She says a little to quickly, almost as if she knew what I would say before the thought even entered her mind.

I run my fingers through my hair, thankful that in her rooms I have enough room in which to pace. My mind buzzing with experiences, thoughts, feelings all jumping to the surface, clawing away trying to be the first on the tip of my tongue but my teeth remain firmly shut to keep the at bay. "I'm scared." The words drop unbidden from my lips as I go to chew on them thoughtfully, effectively halting the motion. I stop in my tracks each muscle freezing in place. I distinctly heard those words, spoken in my voice but I gave no conscious effort for them to be realised to the air.

"You're scared of seeing your brother?" She asks, thankfully ignoring my intense reaction to my own words.

Now she is aware of my thoughts on the matter I see little reason to keep them concealed and I answer with a simple. "Yes." Before sighing in defeat and sinking to sit on the side of her bed.

"Why?" A note of anger still threads through her voice but her posture betrays the fact that she is begging to calm. Slowly I raise my eyes to hers, hoping she can see my plea to not prod any further with that particular line of questioning. "I mean..." She pauses, calm enough to attempt to reorder her words but still coming up short. "He's your brother." She says this with such confusion and I know she cannot understand.

"Exactly." I say and watch her forehead crease.

She takes a deep breath her sights hitting the floor. My words not comprehending with her on a very fundamental level. "But he's your brother. You said you liked getting his letters."

"Yes. Letters. Harmless pieces of paper. Something I can read at my leisure, when, where and how I want to." I rake my fingers once more through my hair. Trying to come up with some way, some combination of words to justify the cold hand of fear grasping at my chest in such a way. "Actual, physical interaction. That's something totally different."

Something in her mind slots into place. I can see a small amount of understanding slither into her eyes. "Then don't go."

I snort, wishing the answer were so simple. "I have to go."

"Why?" She's stepping closer to me. Bending her knees until they touch the rug at my feet so she is once again at my level. Her hands reaching out to grasp mine, all my wrongdoings appearing to be forgiven with that simple touch. "If it scares you so much, stay here."

"I can't." I say and now I must delve further. Truths are unravelling before me without my consent but to leave it here would be more detrimental to our relationship than the inner workings of my mind. "When we break up for the summer I need to have found someone who can take me in and be able to deal with my disease." She opens her mouth to chastise me for the use of such a derogatory word for the disorder but I plough ahead, cutting her off before she has even started. "With only a skeleton staff working at the school, I can't stay here and if I haven't found someone who can take responsibility for me I have to go where the ministry deems safe." Her mouth closes with a snap, the gravity of my situation for the first time dawning on her. "So I have to build bridges, outside these walls. I'm still a minor. In the summer holidays I have to have somewhere to go and it would be better to test the waters over a fortnight than a six week period." I deliberately sidestep telling her the twisted pleasure I feel at Umbridge's anger over being overruled by the ministry. Although the very thought of it makes me glad that I have been avoiding her for so long while the dispute was in full swing.

"If it's the summer you're worried about, my parents will let you stay with me." She says this with such convocation that I suspect she has already contacted them and they have granted the request.

"You're parents are muggles." I pause to take a breath and quickly forge ahead as I see her open her mouth to protest. "Two full moons will fall over this summer holiday. They are unequipped to deal with someone like me. My brother has magical blood and training so should have the means to accommodate it."

She slumps back slightly on her hunches. "You've been planning this."

I nod slightly to the affirmative. "In honesty I had hoped for Dale to offer his home to me over a half term or better yet a weekend." I know for a fact that I am able to go without basic human needs for that period of time. Two weeks could potentially stretch my resolve to breaking point.

"Do you plan everything like this?"

I feel a smile touch my lips at the shocked look on her face. "Most things."

"Wow." She says managing to sound both in awe and agonised at the thought. "I'd never really thought of it that way."

"It's my disorder not yours." I begin, still trying to wipe that helpless look from her features. "I never expected you to think about it in such a way."

"If it comes to it. Where will the ministry send you?"

"I don't know." I answer truthful. "This sort of thing hasn't happened for so long, there aren't any viable records. At least none I can get my hands on. Somewhere with high walls and strong bars I presume."

"They can't just lock you up." She says reminding my how naive she can be when it comes to magical creatures like me and their place in the magical community. "You haven't done anything wrong."

"Hermione. I'm a half breed and a minor. If they get legal guardianship over me they can do whatever they want." Her mouth drops open at this and I push my tongue out to wet my parched lips. "I thought I would have more time. In two days I must go and visit my brother if I'm to convince him to take me in until I come of age. He just... dropped this one me all at once and I panicked. I'm sorry"

"There is no way I can talk you out of this is there?"

I shake my head solemnly. "No." To refuse his offer at this time could provoke him to withdraw his offering permanently.

She blows the single strand of hair that has fallen over one of her eyes into the air but it does little to remove it from her vision. "Okay. What's the worst that could happen to you?"

In two weeks? Luckily cut shorter by the presence of the full moon, which still leaves ten days away from the safety of Hogwarts. At best all of my fears have little foundation and I do not suffer any pain at my brother's hands. At worst, such a stretch of time could kill me, from malnutrition and deprivation of sleep alone. Then anything from illness to hallucinations in between. Needless to say I do not divulge any of this, instead choosing to say a very vague "I don't know." Unsurprised when I receive a disbelieving look. I have calculated the risk and though it could potentially be very painful I have the means to insure my survival, so I see little need to worry her.

However it may be a little late to try to hold the concern as I feel her grip on my hands tighten significantly. "You write to me every day. Understand?"

I fail at holding back my snigger, knowing that if he really put his mind to it Dale could control my incoming and outgoing mail as my father did. "I will write." I promise, fully intending to live up to it for as long as I am capable.

She lets go of one of my hands to push the errant lock of hair behind her ear. "Can't I just come with you?"

"I'd rather you didn't.'" I say in all seriousness. Not only do I have no desire for her to see me in any of the positions I fear so venomously but I cannot allow myself to put her into that sort of situation. If my fears are proven to be founded I would never forgive myself if any harm came to Hermione because of it. "I can take care of myself." I assure her, trying to make that look of powerlessness drop from her face if only for a second.

"I know but doesn't mean you have to all the time." I suppose under the circumstances I should feel grateful that this is the only lecture I receive. She sighs and closes her eyes for a very long moment before uttering. "Can we go to bed now?" I don't think I have ever complied with a request so quickly in my short lifetime.

Over the course of the following day, Hermione and I came to some sort of mutual, unspoken understanding, not to discuss the up and coming visit to my brother's household. I do not know what made her change her mind but I know that I feel unrelenting gratitude for her reaming quiet about the affair. In turn I have made every effort to continue to feel my emotion while I am around her, convincing myself that I will have more than enough time to mentally build my defences on the long train ride.

I was able to calmly get away from the group of friends to return to my room and systemically hide each neatly wrapped parcel in any place I could conceive. Many sewed into the lining of the denim jacket that Dale sent to me before winter. I hope that he will recognise the gift so will be loath to deface it for any search about my person. An undetectable extending charm has also been placed on the inner lining of the jacket as is does fit snugly to my body and the charm was able to eliminate any unsightly and obvious bulges the small packages made.

I have also taken the liberty to cushion the lining of my satchel with the small pieces of sustainable foods. Along with pushing many of them in-between socks and along the sleves of a several shirts, to give the impression of trying to hide them but also making them an easy find.

My vigorous appetite also made an appearance at each meal, this did not go unnoticed by the usually dense Gryffindors gathered around me. Ginny even making the comment. "Are you fattening up for hibernation or something?" I laughed it off, pointing out all the the flaws in her logic as I am neither a mammal that is prone to hibernation and winter has just passed. That left her baffled and she quickly dropped the subject. However I felt Hermione's eye on me through every mouthful.

It is clear that she has been able to piece together a fragmented picture of what I fear I may suffer when I leave the safety of the school. I have no way of knowing if her imagination is close to my actual past experiences and I am hesitant to broach the subject considering how she is for the moment content to let the matter slide. It is clear however that she has recognised my strange relationship with food and when I return to the castle it is likely she will be much more firm with her handling of my eating habits. A matter that must be left to deal with another time. Right in this moment I must withstand with fussing fingers smoothing down the lapels of my jacket. Unknowingly running her fingers over no less than fourteen small parcels of non perishable food and in doing so testing the strength of my charm. "Have you got everything?" Somehow she has managed not to hear my answer to this question the last three times she asked me on the short walk from Hogwarts Castle to Hogsmeade station.

"Yes Hermione," I say slowly feeling the grin spread across my face at her visible agitation. Hoping that this time my response will not fall of deaf ears.

"Good." She says with a decisive nod, still keeping her eyes on my already neat lapels to avoid my gaze. "And you know where you're going?"

My hand had been resting in my pocket, gently clutching the small paper folded tightly within it, I pull it free for her to see. "I have instructions, remember." Dale had been kind enough to meticulously plan the route, explaining where I will need go and who I will need to ask for my platform number once I reach the muggle train station.

"Yes, I remember. Don't lose them." She ignores the roll of my eyes and her fingers brush my cheeks, in the most gentle of touches, seconds before her lips push tightly against mine. "You still don't have to go." She breaths against my skin.

"Yes I do. We've discussed this."

Her palms coast over my shoulders and down my arms so she can pull my hands between her grasping digits. "I know and I understand. I don't like it but I understand." I force myself to remain outwardly calm as she takes a deep breath, slowly gathering her strength. Her gaze touches mine and her hands tug downwards, indicating she wants me to bend to her.

I rest my lips against hers just as the train whistle sounds out behind me forcing me into the carriage. Releasing her I bent at the knee to retrieve my satchel from the floor and push the strap over my shoulder. "I'll see you when I get back."

"And you'll write." She says as I step up into the carriage.

Pulling the door shut by the open window I rest my elbows heavily on the sill. "Everyday." I assure.

She nods, swallowing heavily and smiling half heartily. "Good luck."

I remain quiet and let a grin pull across my face, my body shaking from side to side as the train departs.

I remain at that open window for well over a mile of travel, content to close my eyes against the breathtaking scenery and just feel the wind as it rushes through my hair and around my ears. Slowly taking each breath, in through my nose and out through my mouth, letting a feeling of calm engulf me before I have to retreat into one of the many empty compartments and continue with my preparations.

The train is more than a little sparsely populated at this time of year, many of the students preferring to remain at school with their friends and enjoy the bi daily visits to Hogsmeade village. So it is not a difficult task to avoid all the other students on the train and no one comes in search of me. I use the time to gently guide myself into the correct frame of mind I may need to adopt around the member of my once estranged family. Taking two books from my bag and exchanging the dust covers of them both affords me a useful way of which to do such a thing.

Hermione had given me one of her many muggle books, explaining that it wouldn't be prudent for me to be seen browsing through my spell books when I leave the relative safety of the magical world. So with one of my many books dedicated to the blackest of magic, now carefully concealed behind the cover of 'Pride and Prejudice' I settle back into my seat and begin to fill my mind with each spell, curse and charm the words have to offer, each of them more cruel and painful than it's predecessor. Feeling myself shrink back into the deepest recesses of my own mind with each passing word. I know what I leave behind is little more than a shell of who I have become but this is how my immediate family prefers me to behave and this is the quickest way I am able to accomplish this state of mind.

The change over at Glasgow Central Station is a surprisingly smooth affair. The gentleman behind the thick glass able to give me detailed direction to the platform that I am to depart from, coupled with each platform being very clearly labelled prevent me from becoming lost in the large crowd of the station. Once I have gotten over my initial shock of being confronted with an open carriage I settle into a seat as far away from any of the surrounding muggles I can muster and once more descend into the realms of dark, dangerous magic.

The whole journey takes just over six and a half hours and when the disembodied voice – of which on first appearance startled me into quite literally jumping out of my seat - fills the carriage once more and announces that we are to pull into New Street station I almost feel ready to be able to face my brother.


	26. Chapter 26: Homecomeing

Chapter 26

Muggles. Everywhere I look, every time I turn. They're everywhere. All of them so lost in their own world that they don't even take the time to look up from their open newspaper as I exit the train. All completely oblivious to the world around them, basking in their own ignorance. Hundreds of them crowd the platform and press against each other in desperation to board the train.

The touching is the first thing I notice so many warm bodies pressed into such a tight space, that it can't be helped. A bump of a shoulder, a brush of an unbridled limb against any surface of flesh. It's seconds before I'm overwhelmed, that's when I notice the murmuring. Not so much in conversation, but the collective sound of hundreds of breaths and non-committal grunts uttered as all of them bumble about through life bumping into each other.

The sharpness of my senses isn't helping either. The thick stench of stale sweat and oil filling my nostrils.

The heavy crowd barely thins as I follow the each notice, directing me from the platform and further into the station. The muscles in my shoulders bunching and my teeth gritting against a sheathing comment every time anyone steps too far into my personal space but nothing can stop the feral grow rumbling low in my throat. The carnal sound is swallowed by the incessant din all around me and is cut short, my eyes widening slightly and my feet stopping beneath me, wondering when muggles came into the possession of magic.

My head tilts to the side, as I regard the moving staircase. Steps appearing from under the floor and gently travel upwards. Muggles, pushing past me and shaking their heads stepping onto the contraption as if it were the most natural thing in the world in which to do so. Even after taking in their relaxed attitude, which implies they are used to this form of transportation I still find my eyes scanning the crowded platform. Expecting an Unspeakable to step out of the shadows and scrub every memory clean of even having seen such a staircase.

Yet all that continues around me is the bustle of muggles as they go about their business. No loud crack of apparition, nor booming shout to cast a blanket of memory charm. Cautiously I approach the moving staircase and step onto it, feeling it shift beneath me and carry me towards the top. Taking note of the metallic step and the thick groves caved deeply into the alloy. The design is a far cry from anything I have encountered before but such magic's do exist in many magical communities and it is baffling to think that the ministry would turn a blind eye to it's continued use by muggles.

As I near the top of the moving staircase I happily note that the dull grey that surrounded me in the platform, gives way to bright white tiles and after a fair amount of negotiation through the crowd I find the exit. Handing my ticket over to the waiting porter I try to remain patent as he pears down the at small oblong card. After his eyes pass over it once he uses a small hand held device to punch a circular hole through the ticket and turns back to me with a smile. "Enjoy your day, Miss." I polity nod in his direction as the tips of his fingers touch the peak of his blue cap. My head turning to keep my eyes on the strange man as I pass, my confused frown held in place as I peer over my shoulder.

I freely admit that I personally have never spent a great deal of time in the presence of muggles but the way they interact with each other and the way the move through their environment is a far cry from the picture that has been painted to me of their existence since early childhood. The notion of their prehistoric barbarian ways not shown to me in the small amount of contact I have had on this long journey.

"Jay!" Even without the added effect the wolf inside me has given to my hearing I would have been able to hear my brother's voice as it carried across the crowd.

The last time I clapped eyes on Dale was the day he packed his bags, exchanged some very heated profanities with my father and stormed out of the house. That was almost seven years ago and yet he still looks exactly as I remember. His scruffy mop of deep brown hair beginning to thin at the edges bobbing about on his head as he walks, only just missing his eyes with each step. In some ways his frame mirrors my own. It appears that long, lonely days of starvation at the hands of a parent does not provoke a hearty apatite into adulthood. However what he lacks in girth he makes up for in stature. He must dwarf my five foot eleven stance by at least three inches. His long arm held aloft and violently waving in my direction an unneeded bid to grasp my attention as he stands high above many of the passers by and is easily spotted.

He shifts his body to walk sideways through a densely populated patch of the station and come to stand before me. "How was your trip?" The smile on his face belays nothing but pure, unadulterated excitement and his calf muscles steadily clench and relax, making his whole frame bounce up and down on the spot.

"Fine." I say, keeping my voice level. "Thank you."

"You've grown." He says, holding his arms out to the side and letting his eyes travel the length of me. "Why. You must have been about..." He holds his hand out, palm facing the floor about three inches below my chin. "Yay big, last time I saw you." For a long moment he just smiles, gazing at me with a look of awe on his face. He must notice my silent response because his smiling eyes lock with mine. "I'm going to hug you."

I can feel the colour drain from my face and my eyes budge at the announcement. "What?" I have barely manage to expel the word before I am as stiff as a board, engulfed in his long arms. Only after taking three very deep, shaky breaths am I able to unclench my fists and tap his side lightly. Returning the unexpected show of affection in the only way I truly know how.

His hands bunch into fists in my jacket for only a moment before he is pushing me away, holding me at arms length so he can once again look up and down my body. That insistent grin wrinkling the skin around his eyes and making his iris' sparkle. "It's been too long Sis." He finally says and to my relief, releases me from his grasp. "Just too long."

I clear my throat and try not to appear uncomfortable but still nod my consent.

He's only silent for a moment before holding his hand out to me. "I can take your bag."

Even though I will them not to, I can feel my fingers tighten, protectively around the strap slung over my shoulder. "That wont be necessary." I say, hoping and praying to all of the gods that he wont press the issue.

He shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders. "Suit yourself." He steps to the side and holds out his long arm in an indication for me to walk in that direction. "Now Madame. You're carriage awaits."

Now that he has drawn attention to it, most of my concentration strays to the satchel lightly pressing against my side and I pull the strap more securely over my shoulder, hooking my thumb beneath it so it can rest against my collar bone. Lightly I step in the direction he has indicated and take note of his presence as he fall into step beside me.

With light touches and gentle direction he leads me to a set of glass doors, which I might add he steps forward and pushes open for me to step through. I feel myself taking a deep breath and finally being out in the open air and follow half a step behind my brother as he leads me between endless automobiles, digging deep into his pockets as he walks.

He pulls forth a messy bunch of keys and presses a button on the small black box held to the keyring. Right in front of me the automobile makes two high pitched squawks into the air and I stay rooted to the spot, willing my racing heart to slow down after the startling sound. "Hop in." Is the only comment Dale makes opening the front door on the right hand side and disappearing from view.

Cautiously I step around the other side of the vehicle, sweeping my eyes along the panels in a search of the entrance, ceasing my forehead when I can see no plausible method to open the door.

Dale pushes his way into my sites, resting his crossed hands on the automobiles roof and looking at me strangely. "What's the matter?"

I shake my head at him. "Nothing."

"Then get in the car." he whines.

I have to swallow the lump building in my throat in order to overcome my pride and simply admit. "I am uncertain how."

"Oh." He blinks in my direction, blankly a few times before understanding washes over his face. "Damn." He closes his door with a hollow bang and walks around to where I stand. "I'm sorry. I forgot. You just..." He reaches out, his fingers going beneath a gap in the panel and pulls it outwards. "Pull the handle. Then it'll open."

"I see." I nod, committing the action to memory. I have a feeling that, this small piece of knowledge is something I will be needing over the next fortnight. "Thank you." I add, careful to always be submitting to his superior knowledge and having him see it.

"Don't mention it." He says with a shrug turning on his heal to return to his side of the car. "Everyone's gotta learn some time."

Shock rings through my entire body at his words, so far removed from anything I had expected. Granted he had expected me to be familiar with this kind of transportation but it had only taken a second for him to release my ineptness in this situation. Then not only had his words been soft and kind but he provided me with the tools in which to complete the task should it's need arise in the future. If this frame of mind Dale appears to have adopted over the years is genuine all of my preparation might be rendered unessential. However I have enough experience to know that anyone's mood can spin on a Sickle. So I would do well not to let my guard down until I can be absolutely sure.

His arms land once more on the cars roof and exasperated sigh falling from his lips telling me I have taken to long to enter the vehicle. "Seriously Jamie. Get in the car." He says before turning and sliding into his seat.

It is deceptively easy to slither into my seat and I position my bag between my feet on the floor. Pulling the door closed with far to much force I flinch against the resounding slam. "Sorry." I jump into my apology before I have even processed the thought to open my eyes after wincing.

"That's okay." He says and I can detect a stain layered into his voice, which he is trying to eradicate. He reaches out over the top of the wheel in front of him to caress the protruding plastic that runs along the bottom of the front window. "It's okay baby. She didn't mean it."

"Are you..." I pause, knowing it would be more sensible for me to bite my tongue but this behaviour is far too odd to turn a blind eye to. "Are you talking to your car?"

"Of course I am." He admits, his hand reaching for a protruding stick between us and pushes against the knob at it's tip. "You can't expect her to start first time if you don't show her a little love now and then."

Not wanting to provoke any further caressing I mutely nod. Unsure exactly how one would show any sort of love, or for that matter any sort of feeling to an inanimate object. "I see."

He tilts his head to the side, then shakes his head. "Na, you don't." I hold his eyes for several seconds. Determined not to be so transparent in future. "Buckle up." He says after a few moments of contemplative silence. He then swiftly tuns away from me, resting his shoulder against the seat.

I send a seething look towards his back. I have just had trouble entering the bloody vehicle, does he actually expect me know know how to 'buckle up'? In theory I could watching him and inconspicuously copy his action but both his words and his demeanour have intrigued me to such a degree that I feel I must test the boundaries of his patience with me. We are for all incentive purposes still in public, he would be unable to implement any degree of discipline for my inexperience without many muggle eyes watching him. So boldly I open my mouth to speak. "How exactly does one buckle up?"

He turns his head sharply, his forehead ceased in confusion. "What?" Slowly his face unfolds and understand sweeps across his features. "Ohhh." He stretches out the word to show his comprehension before leaning across my body, throwing each and every one of my muscles ridged. This is the second time he is invaded my personal space to a level that I am not comfortable with and it is beginning to prove difficult to hold my tongue on the matter. "I'm such an idiot sometimes. Sorry." His fingers grasp a strip of nylon. As he falls back into his seat, it is drawn across my lap and diagonally across my chest, clicking into place on the side of the seat. "There we go."

He turns back to the wheel in from of him and pushes one of his keys into the column, which supports it. Leaving me to pull the strip of nylon from my chest and note that one end disappears into a covering of plastic. If I pull too vigorously on the strip it locks in place, but when pulled gently the strange black ribbon appears never ending. "What is this in aid of?" After daring myself to further push the boundaries just to see how far they stretch I lift a single eyebrow in question.

"It's a seat belt." He replies, meeting my eyes as the vehicle rumbles to life. "You know. So if we crash you don't get propelled through the windscreen."

Both of my eyebrows raise in both shock and fear. A single word ringing through my head with it's implications. "Crash?"

He sniggers, reaching between us to push against the protruding stick once more. This time directing it decisively towards my knee and closer to the front of the automobile. "We're not gonna crash Jamie." I think he actually assumes that this is a comfort. He pushes downwards on another leaver, the angry rumbling noise from the front pressing against my ears as it speeds up dramatically, just as the whole damned thing moves.

Without thought my arms fly out, one and pressing against the handle I find inside the door, the other reaching down towards my thigh to grip the cushioned seat. Hair stand up along the back of my neck and I feel a single bead of cold sweat slither down between my shoulder blades. With a jolt the vehicle draws to a stop and Dale pulled on the lever between us, on it's ascent it clicks resolutely. "We're hardly even moving Jamie."

He studies me silently and I keep my eyes forward, not wanting him to see the terror in my eyes. Surly he does not have any intention of crashing, of that I can reassure myself, but there are very few modes of transport which I have ever been close to of which I did not have direct control over. The only true exception is the train, taking me to and from school. At which point there is only a single vehicle upon a single line of track. The risk of any collision is minimal. However this mode of transportation has been designed with the thought of it impacting with its environment in mind.

He lets out a long breath and leans back in his seat. "I didn't mean to scare you."I feel my jaw clench and I steadfastly refuse to meet his gaze, which I can feel boring into my profile. "I'm a good driver, I've never been in a crash." Another long breath and he pushes against his dangling keys and the rumbling diminishes, leaving an uneasy silence between us. "Okay. Here's the plan. I'll apparate you back to the house. I'll can come back for the car later."

Only now do my eyes meet his, I hasten to add without my permission to do so, along with the question that fall unbidden from between my lips. "Why would you do that?"

"Because." He holds his hand out palm up to indicate my ridged posture. "You're clearly uncomfortable."

That shouldn't matter, he shouldn't have even been able to notice my discomfort. Something in his manner and the length of time the people who I have surrounded myself with, prodding and pulling at me to open myself to them have thrown me off balance. It with these words that I realise I did not have the adequate time to prepare. To withdraw to such a degree that my fright would not have even registered in my eyes, let alone with the rest of my psychical being. "It's fine." I say, willing my teeth to unclench. "I'll get used to it."

A snort of laughter escapes him. "You haven't changed have you? Always pushing yourself." He says this more to himself leaning forward to cross his arms over the crest of the wheel in front of him, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of his bottom lip. "I'm not like Dar." Dale says referring to our father as he would always shorten the title in some way to show his disrespect for the man. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

I find myself in a very interesting position. My brother has indicated that my show of weakness does not displease him. Not even marginally, so the fear of bringing his wrath down upon me disappears almost instantaneously. Only to be replaced with a fierce determination to not allow this experience to beat me. For my own sense of accomplishment, not the praise of anyone else. Very quickly I am feeling at ease around Dale and I cannot deicide if that is a desirable thing or not. "I'm fine." I say again. Pointing my gaze though the windscreen and feeling my grip on the seat below me tighten so my knuckles turn white.

"You can't travel back all the way like that." He comments, keeping his eyes on my ridged posture. "It's nearly an hour away."

On some level he is right, keeping myself in such a heightened state of fright for such a length of time will only tire me and I have no way of knowing what kind of person he may become when we reach the sanctity of his home. I know that on many levels I still fear him but he is the only means that I have at my disposal to quell my terror at the vehicle, while not allowing the experience to overwhelm me. "Do you know how it works?"

"The car?" he asks his eyes glued to my slow, silent nod. "Yeah, intimately."

Willing my fingers to loosen their grip I let my eyes drag over to my brother's concerned gaze. "Explain it to me."

A single, bushy eyebrow lifts in mild surprise. "Knowledge is power?" He says this more to himself than to me, letting his hand curl around his chin and he rubs against the stubble he finds there in thought. "Alright then." Reaching forward he grabs onto the key turning it and brining the beast of a machine back to life. "This is the ignition..." He pushes against the lever once more and pulls the vehicle from the space. "It sends electrical impulses to the fly wheel to get it spinning..."

For over an hour I listen to my brother's steady voice, catching the movement both of his hands make out of the corner of my eye, to extenuate his speech. This was fine before he divulged what the bloody wheel in front of him was used for. Every time he lifted a finger off that circle of leather my grip would shoot to the handle to the door and grip so tightly my knuckles would turn white from the stain.

So when we turn down the narrow, winding dirt road to Dale's home I feel that I have a vaguely firm grasp as to how in internal combustion engine functions. The fact that I find it highly inefficient is something that I keep to myself, just content to know what is happening inside the rumbling engine and that it will be highly improbable for it to simply drop to the floor at high speed or, more worryingly explode.

"So that's about it." Once more his palm leave what he refers to as the steering wheel, to make a very unclear and in my opinion unnecessary gesture. My eyes snap to the offending appendage, that by all rights should be completely concentrated in steering the bulky vehicle down the narrowing path. "If you want I could take one apart, show you what's inside." His eyes leave the road and I feel all the blood drain from my cheeks, he must catch the look that clouds my features because he takes on a very sheepish expression and quickly apologies, drawing his attention back to the road. He clears his throat as we pull to the edge of the dense tree line and he draws the car to a stop. "Well, here we are."

My breath catches in my throat at the building he stops before. Where all the way here I had been confronted by never ending red bricks and tarmac. Here stands a work of art, crafted in stone and thatch. Not a single straight line tuns along the outer wall, constructed of shards of stone and mortar. The lines of windows indicated a three story structure but the upper level looks to have been added many years after the foundations were laid, the rough stone jutting out at much more decisive angles, having not received as much weather damage as the other two floors. The thatch roofing topping off the century's old building and if I had not been seated in such a modern, muggle contraption I could almost believe I had stepped backwards in time.

"What do you think?" He asks, unseen as I have turned my head away from him.

"It's beautiful." I answer in all honesty.

This is meet a snort of laughter. "You're easily pleased." the hollow sound that rings through the car tells me he has opened his door and after a sharp click he is standing at the side of the vehicle.

I make to follow him, honestly I do but I appear to have become ensnared in the seatbelt. No matter how hard I tug at the clip that is located at the side of my seat it will not give in to the force. Surly this was designed so one could exit the vehicle when it was appropriate. I had assumed that when the vehicle stopped and the engine was extinguished it would simply fall free. This appears not to be the case.

The door opens close to me and the chill of the air assaults my skin moments before I raise my eyes to meet Dale's twinkling blue gaze. The lines around his eyes crease in an amused smile. "Having a problem?" He asks trying and failing to keep the laughter out of his voice.

Purposefully I turn my gaze away from him, so he is unable to see me narrow my eyes and teeth digging into my lip to bite back a scathing comment that leaps to the tip of my tongue. After audibly grinding my teeth for moment I hold my breath so I can silently draw my mask of impassivity over my face. Turning back to him and keeping my voice level I once more find myself asking for his aid. "How do I get this off me?"

Instead of just explaining the process to me, as I would have preferred, he bends at both the knees and the hip. Pressing his weight on the back of the seat he leans through the tiny space and placing his body much closer to mine than I am comfortable with when I have no means of escape. My back arches and my stomach muscles clench in an desperate attempt to flatten completely against the cushion my back rests against. Even with all of this effort the skin of his bared arm brushes against me and I have to focus my sights over his crouched body and through the windscreen to keep myself from either trembling or lashing out to physically remove him from my personal space.

With an audible click the belt comes free and slides across my chest. Dale take a moment to pat the outside of my tensed thigh and breaths. "There ya go." Luckily he is quick to remove himself from my side of the vehicle.

"Thank you." I reply with a scowl, knowing that he will be unable to see it from his vantage point stood next to the open door. Will this confounded closeness never stop? He surly must remember that I am not the most open to psychical contact. Even as a small child, woken by terrifying dreams I could not bear to be touched in the aftermath. Can we have possibly been parted so long that he forgets such things or that he is totally thoughtless to my discomfort?

"Don't mention it." He says and I know it to be a widely used term but I cannot help but raise my unseen eyebrow at such a futile comment. Why waste your breath forbidding an action that has already taken place?

Quickly I wipe my discontent from my face and after reaching down for my pack pull myself awkwardly from the car. The low seats and strange angle forcing me into a stumble as I make my exit. The smile on Dale's face as he closes the door tells me that he is holding back his amusement but unable to keep it from twinkling in his eyes. "Step this way." He says once more holding his arm out in an initiation for me to take the lead.

Both of our feel crunch along the gravel path and as we near the entrance to his home. He jogs the last few steps, to slide the key into the lock and open the door so I have no need to even break my stride. In a gesture I would describe as mocking he bows low at the hip as I pass, twisting his arm in an exaggerated manor at his belly.

I always knew my brother could be somewhat a jester but I am uncertain if he is poking fun at my demeanour or if he is simply trying to provoke me into good humour.

Nervously I adjust the strap along my shoulder, steeping over the threshold to enter his domain. He shuts the door and pulls the handle skywards until I hear the lock click into place. When he turns he as a mischievous little smile in place that creases the crows feet beginning to touch the sides of his eyes and his hands are clasped at his chest as he furiously rubs them together in anticipation. "So. This is the most important room in the house." His hands spread wide in the large pace. "The kitchen." he needed have pointed such a things out, the AGA dominating most of the far wall near to a free standing stone basin were enough to give away the room's usage.

He steps around the wooden table taking up much of the floor space and puts the flat of his hand against a large white object that I do not believe I have ever seen before. "This is the fridge. Keeps cold stuff cold, you can pretty much take what ever you want out of there." He gaze snaps up to meet his, pleasantly shocked to my very core at such words. His jittery pose belays his barely hidden excitement and he completely overlooks my sharp glance in his direction. "And that cupboard, is where the snacks live. You can help yourself to whatever you want but those are the two most important places."

They may only be words. All actions have yet to be made for me to truly believe what he is saying but I cannot stop the sweet, blessed relief at such words. It may be premature to do so but to feel the weight lift from my shoulders in such a way is at the very least a comfort.

He waves vaguely off to his left. "That way's the living room." His incandescent attitude to that area of the house suggests he must spend a fair portion of his free time elsewhere. "This way." His voice begins to trail off as his ducks his head under the low door frame and into another section of the house and I have to shake myself out of my stupor and hasten my stride to catch up with him, very narrowly avoiding hitting my head on the door frame for my trouble.

His fingers touch another closed door as he brushes past it. "I call that the library but Rachel insists that we're not posh enough for a library, so calls it the study." He turns the corner at the steps and clambers up two before reminding himself of something bends low over the banister so he is at eye level with me. With another point he indicates further down the hallway. "That way's the parlour but I don't think I've ever used the front door, so it could have fallen down for all I know. Go and investigate if you dare."

I brave a raised eyebrow in his directions and only receive a small chuckle in reply and he turns on the stairs and once more begins to climb. He completely bypasses the second floor and leads me up another flight of stairs where the architecture and general layout gives a feel of being much more modern. Even the door frames are high enough to accommodate our hight. "And this..." His hand descends on the door handle as he pauses in speech. "Is you're room." He pushes open the door and steps aside and with a sideways nod of his head indicates that he wants me to enter first.

The plush carpet flattens under my stride and I turn slowly to take in the room, lit only by the dwindling sunlight streaming in from the western facing window. The room is furnished with only the barest essentials. A large double bed pressed up against the side wall, for which I am most happy to note that it will be long enough to accommodate my ample length and I will be able to at the very least lie flat against it. A writing desk on the other side of the room, the wood on it's surface showing no signs of age or wear and a sturdy looking seat upholstered in black leather pushed underneath it. Beyond that there is space, more than enough for me to stretch towards the high ceiling and pace for hours on end should my mood dictate it.

It's only when my teeth snap closed that I realise my mouth is held agape.

"Is the blue okay?" He asks, stepping into the room his hands pushes deep into his back pockets, giving the impression that he feels like he is invading my space even though it rests within his own home.

In honesty I had not even noticed the colour on the walls until he had pointed it out. More concerned with the luxury of enough floor space to be able to stride about the room comfortably. "Yeah, blue's fine." Try as I may I cannot bring my voice level, instead it has taken on a tone of wonderment that will not be suppressed.

He nods slightly. "We thought about yellow but it just seamed a bit bright and I didn't think you'd appreciate Slytherin Green."

For a few moments all I can do is blink at him. "You decorated?"

He gives a shrug of indifference. "We don't really come up here. You've got the whole floor to yourself. Just didn't seam right leaving the walls bare."

"You..." I have to close my mouth and halt any sound from escaping as I feel a sob of relief clamber up my throat. With a swift cough I mange to dislodge it and continue. "You didn't have to do that."

His grin is so bright it makes the late afternoon natural light still spilling into the room look like a flickering candle set next to the sun. "Yeah, I did. So I'm gonna let you get settled it." He begins to back out of the room pulling his hands from his pockets and his child like excitement returns. "If you need me I'll be downstairs or in the barn. Dinner should be around six." He turns pulling the door closed behind him. "Oh." He takes a step back across the threshold. "Almost forgot, when it gets dark, just flick this switch for the light." His fingers touch the white box affixed to the wall and turns the overhead bulb on and off several times before once again retreating. "Welcome home Jamie." He says so quietly that I am certain he had not meant for me to hear him.

I listen to his soft footsteps all the way down three flights of stairs and track them to where my recent memory tells me he had headed to the kitchen. Keeping my ears trained on his location, more out of habit and the need to be listening to something than actual surveillance I pull out the chair. Which I quickly find is on wheels and sink into it.

I had prepared myself for the worst, for pain and anguish. Now I find myself confronted by what appears to be actual, genuine kindness and I find myself wanting to reciprocate but lack the knowledge of how to go about such a thing. Having said that, if trying to find a way to adequately thank my brother for his generous hospitality is all that I need to be worried about. Things are defiantly starting to look up.


	27. Chapter 27: Unexpected Bundles of Energy

Chapter 27

Resting my elbow against the highly varnished desk, I curl my hand into a very loose fist and rest my lips against it in thought. I can still hear Dale meandering his way through the ground floor, after the third time I heard a loud crash from the vicinity of the kitchen along with a muttered curse I learned to only roll my eyes at his clumsiness.

He may psychically look like the wayward brother that stormed out of our family home so many years ago but his actions are far removed from how I remember him. Gone is his constant agitation and anger, replaced with an untameable excitement that he is either completely unable or disinclined to hide. Something within his life must have changed him to such a degree, something monumental but what?

'You worry too much.' Ammy's voice thunders through my head but her sudden entrance into my thoughts in this instance does not startle me, as is the usual reaction.

Instead I close my eyes against the annoyance, too relaxed and tried to fight against her. "I wondered when you'd show up again." I calmly mumble against my bent knuckles.

The laugh that rumbles through my head tells me she is amused by my frustration but somehow she makes the sound soothing, not a single tone of mocking can be detected. 'I assure you human, I have not left.'

Removing my thumb from under my chin I rest my hand and the length of my forearm against the table top. Glad that at least on this occasion she is content to converse without provoking a confrontation. "I know, I can feel you." Every moment of every day as she gazes wide eyed at the world outside.

Without really meaning to, I fall silent. Contemplating my ambivalence to my eldest sibling's behaviour. I cannot decide if I am joyous for the differences in him or not. Not needing to constantly keep my gaze upon him for any signs of a drastic change in his mood, that could potentially throw him into a rage, or if I am quietly terrified of this sense of security that has, over the space of a single hour, descended upon me.

'I rarely feel your thoughts so deep.' Ammy says.

On many occasions over the past weeks she has approached me but in the past whenever I have fallen into silence so has she. Somehow knowing the conversation is at an end, perceiving that any further communication will not be reciprocated. Yet today she has broken that trend, started to speak long after the quiet has resumed. "I asked you to stay out of my thoughts." I say, still keeping calm not only in my voice but I have yet to feel the tension of frustration tightening my shoulder blades.

'A task that would be much easier if they were not so abundant.' She is soundless for a moment, waiting for me to speak until she must realize that I have nothing to say. 'What troubles you so?'

I frown at her question, she knows I rarely discuss such things and I have only once heard her try to pry them from me and yet right now, at the very moment I feel I need to communicate with someone, is the time she chooses to pry into my inner most emotions. "I'm not certain." I answer her, drawing on as much honesty as I can muster. "No that's not... Well I suppose it's almost true." I drop my forehead into my open hand pushing the pads of my fingers and thumb into each temple. "He is just not what I expected."

I feel her confusion ripple along my cheeks. 'Are his actions not favourable to your predictions?'

"Yes." I answer slowly, not completely certain where this line of questioning will lead and finding myself uncaring as to the destination. "And no." Leaning my head back in the seat with a long sigh I stretch out my legs in front of me, crossing them at the ankle. Letting my calves periodically clench, so my weight it shifted around my heel and the chair swivels in an arc ever so slightly, drawing comfort from the strange motion. "At least if it had been painful I would have known what to do."

Something in the noise she makes within my skull gives the impression that if she had a corporal body in this moment she would have tilted her head in interest. 'You possess the skills to face great adversity but not to receive unconditional kindness.'

Now I can feel my anger rise, my shoulders drawing together as they tense and I draw my hands over my belly to bridge my fingers over it. "That almost sounds like a reprimand." I feel my upper lip curl in a snarl over my words.

'No.' She calmly states, either failing to notice or feigning ignorance at my drastic shift in demeanour. 'Merely an observation. It is a curious though.' She pauses, waiting for some sort of response but only being meet with the steady grinding of my teeth. 'That something that should come so easily is so far beyond your grasp.' Her voice is wistful; contemplative even but the words themselves is all I can focus on.

"Are you trying to irritate me?" Had she been standing in front of me I could almost believe that I would have hexed her nine ways from Sunday but as it stands, all I am able to do is show my discontent with the growl laced within my voice.

'That was not my intention, no.' Her vexation is beginning to show. Neither of us is blessed with an abundance of patience when it comes to communication and somehow we always seem to descend into an argument. A noise that sounds suspiciously akin to a snarl thunders between my ears as she speaks. 'Humans can be so infuriating.'

She leaves me so abruptly and so completely that I have to shake my head slightly against the deafening silence left behind. She has retreated to somewhere within the dark recesses of my mind, leaving behind a void of darkness that I should rejoice over. The feeling of emptiness that settles over me in place of this is unsettling to say the least. The comfort she may provide, as she quietly observes from behind my eyes may be cold but is a comfort none the less. I had not thought myself so dependent on it until it was violently ripped away from me.

Somehow, I have once again sunk into anarchy with what must either be a fragment of my subconscious, scrambling around in my mind and begging for attention. Or the primal part of my being, which should only be able to express itself with a bark or a howl. Neither of which makes me either normal or sane but I find the disruptions completely unavoidable as both of us are trapped within this single body, unable to escape the other. Rubbing, prodding and poking each other until one of us explodes and her being the only one with any viable method of escape gives her the advantage of being able to halt all communications whenever she sees fit. Maddening. Completely and utterly maddening. There is little wonder I fear for my own sanity.

My downward spiral of self-assessment is abruptly cut short by the sound of a car's engine breaking the tree line that surrounds the property. My head turns sharply towards the closed door of the room, my body somehow under the strange notion that, by doing so will amplify the noise reaching my ears. The sound does not grow in volume but the rapid shift in attention sharpens my over sensitive ears. I can pinpoint Dale's location in the kitchen by his shuffling feet so I know he has not left the house. His wife must be home and now I have a whole other set of insecurities to safely conceal behind my mask of impassivity.

The engine abruptly dies and seconds later the hollow sound of the door opening meets my ears, followed almost instantly by tiny running feet across the gravel. They pause and the back door clicks as it opens followed by the excited cry of "Dad!"

"Dad?" I mimic quietly, my eyes widening. Not once in any of our correspondence as Dale even given an inclination that he has fathered a child. My heart thunders in my chest and pounds in my ears, before I even know I am standing and have opened the door. Needing to make sure that I have not misheard.

Dale's voice assaults my ears the moment my feet touch the landing. "Hey Little Man!" With the door open the sound intensifies to such an extent that I wince against it, needing to be closer to the conversation but having to bring my senses under control in order to endure it. "Where's your Mom?"

"In the car." The distinctly childish voice stretches out the words as I numbly take a seat on the top most step. "Can I watch TV?"

"What did your mother say?" Dale asks the child, an almost distracted tone to his voice.

"She said: after he had tidied away his train set." Another voice enters the fray, most certainly female and I can only assume this to be Rachel.

"Awww Mom." The child whines, in a tone of voice that grates against my ears.

"Aww Mom, nothing. Off you go." The woman says almost as a command and completely ignores my brother's soft chuckle. The heavy footfalls that follow signal the beginning of a tantrum but the young boy goes to complete his task without any further argument and both adults are quiet until he is out of earshot. "What are you doing?" Rachel asks after I detect her heels carry her across the kitchen.

Dale doesn't answer right away and I rest my elbow against my thigh so I can once more press my lips to the back of my knuckles in thought. I have a nephew. Young yes but old enough to walk and talk and he had not once mentioned it. Why conceal such a thing from me?

"Making dinner." Dale finally responds once again distracted by something.

"I see. Is that what people are calling this now." His wife begins to tease. "Should I get your wand or have the paramedics on standby? Chef's choice."

"Oh, ha bloody ha." Dale says. "I know how to cook." He defends himself only to let out a long breath. "When it says boil for ten minutes..."

"It means in water Dear." Rachel replies to my brother's half asked question and by the sounds of it drags a chair from under the table to take a seat.

"I knew that. I was gonna ask if it was ten whole minutes." I close a single eye in embarrassment on my sibling's behalf while I try to decide if he is being facetious or not.

"Yes. I'm sure." She pauses for a moment and I strain my ears to hear any movement from the kitchen, trying to block out all other noises so I can hear every movement, every breath. Wishing I were able to see their actions and body language.

I know that eavesdropping is deceitful but no one has ever accused me of an abundance of honesty and I would truly like to be able to gauge the type of person my sister-in-law is, before I am to meet her for the first time. After all I must somehow convince her to allow a dangerous animal to reside in the same building in which her son rests his head. The unexpected appearance of the child has made it imperative to make a good first impression.

Rachel is the first to speak. "Is she here?" She asks and my ears prick up for a whole new reason. Does she mean me?

"Yeah." Dale answers. "She's upstairs." Defiantly me, after running my senses along the two upper floors of the building I confirm that I am the only person up here, so leaning forward on my perch on the top most step I let my eyebrows hood over my eyes and concentrate intently on their exchange.

"How is she?" Rachel's voice is kept even, careful even as to not incite any negative response.

Dale's feet shuffle around the kitchen as he blows air between his pursed lips and making them vibrate. "She's..." He pauses and I hear a second chair drag along the floor. "She's exactly what I expected. So... Bloody..." I can hear him struggling with his words and silently I urge him to continue. Needing to hear how he perceives me and why he sounds so deflated by what he sees. "... Distant. I'm telling you now, that man has a lot to answer for." Anger threads through his tone and quickly I deduce he must be speaking of our father.

"You used to be like that Sweetheart, remember." Rachel says gently and once more I hear the click of her heels against the hardwood floor. "Tea?"

"Please." I hear him exhale another long breath and by the sound of it he must be scrubbing at least one of his hands against his face. "I just thought, hoped that after all these months she'd be alright. Or at least more open. The way she writes about this Hermione I just assumed that things were going well."

I frown at his observation. Running through the numerous letters I have sent to him. It is rare that I make more than a passing mention of my girlfriend. I had intended it to be that way, not wanting to draw Hermione into the crossfire when it comes to my family. Either I had become lost in the words and revealed much more than I had intended or my sibling is very astute when it comes to reading between the lines.

"And I'm pretty certain she's hoarding food." Before, I had been mildly worried but now my blood turns to ice in my veins.

Rachel's voice takes on a stern edge. "You didn't check, did you?"

"Oh, by the Gods no!" Dale says, almost affronted before letting out a long breath. "Just the way she was guarding that damned bag." His wooden chair creaks, indicating that he adjusted his position. "Besides, it's what I used to do."

It's a split second too late when I hear thundering footsteps at the bottom of the stairs. I hadn't been keeping my ear on the boy's location and somehow even with all the racket he is making he has managed to sneak up on me. He tousles up the steps like a baby centaur and I push against my seat to throw me to my feet, determined to be back in the relative safety of my room before I can be spotted from the second floor. I barely have the time to turn on the spot before I hear his high pitched voice. "Wha are you doin'?"

I betray every lesson, every session of training when met with stressful situations and completely freeze. Young children have never been something I feel very comfortable around, their blind honesty and excessive energy was once something I envied, as I grew it become something almost akin to fear. My body trembles with the tension in my muscles and I turn my head to face the boy. At a guess he can't be a day over five years. His messy brown hear grown to such a length that it touches his eyelids and draws my attention to the curiosity held in those blue depths, holding me in place and almost demanding an answer. "Nothing." Had he been much older I might have attempted a much more in depth ruse but his age renders any such effort a moot point.

His head tilts to the side and his eyes narrow as he studies me. His chubby little hand lifts and his points his index finger in my direction. "Are you my auntie?" He asks with such innocence that it almost makes me want to run screaming from his presence.

In the interests of not frightening the child I remain where I am only turning so I face him and try to bring my quivering muscles under control. He at the very least is aware of my existence, which puts me on the back foot somewhat, not even able to address him by his name. "I suppose so." I answer slowly hoping it will be enough for the boy to be on his way and presumably return the toy box, which is now resting at his foot to his bedroom.

Instead the biggest of smiles spreads from ear to ear, almost splitting his face in two. In an instant he is running up to meet me, with such speed and force that he quite literally jumps into my arms, his tiny arms wrapping themselves around my neck in a vice like grip as my arms instinctively reach around so he does not fall. What in Hades do I do now? He's speaking in such a garbled mess of words and so loudly in my ear that I cannot even hope to decipher the meaning.

Present me with a snarling, fire breathing dragon and I calmly plot a route to run or fly circles around it. Place me in a dangerous magical duel and I will be able to predict not only my opponent movements but also the spells they are likely to cast. Calm, calculated, collected.

However, when confronted with a single, over excited child and every thought abandons me. Leaving me lost and helpless. Stock still and frozen in terror without a single thought or plan to aid me in this particular plight. I have little choice but to seek outside help.

After adjusting my grip on the boy so my long arm holds him close, under his backside, I reach out and grip the banister in my shaky hand. Altering my stance to look over the child's shoulder so I can see the first step is by no means an easy task, with his tight grip pulling him further up my torso and a seemingly never ending stream of words that exit his mouth does little more than distract me.

After successfully finding the first step without falling down it, I am able to gently amble my way down the three flights to the ground floor and after making as much noise as I am able to alert the two adults to my presence I push the door open into the kitchen.

The conversation had stopped from the moment I set foot on the second floor landing as the boy in my arms is speaking so quickly and so loudly they must have stopped to listen to the commotion. Dale offers me little aid as I try to implore him with my eyes to remove his son from my grasp, only going as far as to bite his lips together to keep from bursting into a fit of giggles judging by the trembling of his shoulders.

Rachel has the decency to at least look mortified at the spectacle but appears affixed to her seat with her eyes opened wide in surprise. "I see you've meet Daniel."

Slowly I nod, feeling that iron grip tighten around my neck and suddenly it becomes almost difficult to breath. "It would appear so." I turn my eyes to the woman, hoping that maybe she might take pity on me, for once uncaring to hear the quake of fear threaded throughout my voice.

Somehow within the two heartbeats we have been in the same vicinity she has learned to read my normally inexpressive face and quickly stands, reaching out and coaxing the exited bundle from my grasp. "Sorry about that." She places the boy on his feet and directs him to what Dale indicated as the living room. "Why don't you go and watch TV Danny."

There is something about Rachel's voice, a note held within the lyrical sound that threatens to put me at ease long before I am ready to do so. Physically she is stunning. Her golden blond hair, cut to curl around her chin and frame her beautiful, soft features. Even in her high heels she still stands at least half a foot shorter than me but even in her short stature, the shape of her legs give the impression that they should keep going up for miles beneath her knee length black shirt.

I am uncertain if the illusion is cast by the cut of her clothing or the actual shape of her body but her upper body has the shape of a perfect hour glass. Every part of her should set me on edge, knowing that she is good looking enough and aware of it enough to choose the correct cut of clothing to obtain whatever she wishes with the use of her body. However something about that voice, as she calmly speaks to her son, overshadows all of that beauty and has me unwillingly relaxing into it.

He pushes his fist into the air and with a cry of "Yes!" he scampers off but only manages to pass a few feet before he is running back in my direction, making my muscles clench once again preparing for impact. He reaches up towards me wrapping his small, chubby fingers around my thumb and tugging on my limb in a way that strongly reminds me of my younger sibling. "Are you gonna come watch TV?"

"I..." My gaze is drawn back down to our entwined hands. A painful knot of loss lodged deep in my throat. The gesture is innocent and innocuous but reminds me so much of James that it almost knocks me off my feet. I had not known until this very moment quite how much I miss him. Shaking my head to clear the depressing thought I try to focus on the question that has been asked of me. "I'm not even certain what that is."

I had not thought it physically possible but his entire face drops. "Wha?" He says, his face too lax to be able to pronounce the letter 'T'. "You don't have a TV." He says very, very slowly. As if such a thing would be incomprehensible.

My lips move to form the word but I hold my breath and study the young child's reaction as I slowly utter. "No."

Dale's bark of laughter is only brought under control when he presses his fisted hand between his teeth to keep the noise in check. His eyes streaming and his body shuddering with restraint.

Rachel once again jumps to my rescue, bending at the knees and squatting so she draws herself eye level with her son. "Maybe you can show Auntie Jamie later." I watch as his shocked little face turns towards her and nods rapidly. "That means you have to let go Danny."

"Oh." He says, removing his grip from around my shortest digit. "Okay." He agrees with his mother and wonders off around the far door, disappearing from view.

Dusting off her knees, she stands once again. Reaching out and resting her hand upon my shoulder and I have to do my level best not to finch from the unfamiliar touch. "Sorry about that. He's been very excited to see you."

"So I see." I answer trying in vain to slow my racing heartbeat. "I only wish I could say the same." As I speak I turn my head, sending a pointed look in my brother's direction.

Dale for his part barely even registers any form of regret, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. "I didn't want to tell you via owl. You know, in case Dad got hold of it."

He's statement does make sense, it would not be the first time my father had been able to intercept a letter but that does indicate that he is aware of my correspondence with Dale. Another fact I had not been made aware of. I nod curtly in understanding but still showing my ire at being left in the dark with regards to such an important aspect of my brother's life.

The grip on my shoulder tightens and draws my attention. The soft smile I find gracing my sister-in-law's lips is enough to stun me into silence. Already today I have had to cope with far too many unwanted displayed of affection and hoping I can have this over with as soon as possible, I steel myself for any further form of contact, holding her gaze for what feels like hours so I can see the precise moment I am engulfed but it never comes. With nothing more than another squeeze of my shoulder she turns from me, her heels gently clicking along the wooden flooring back over to the counter top. "Tea or coffee?" Is all that she asks me and I almost wish she had descended into an abundance of physical contact. At least then all I would need to do is grin and bear it.

The tip of my tongue pushes out to moisten parched lips as I silently wonder if she is speaking in either a language or dialect I am not fluent in. Her words were posed as a question, an offering maybe but the actual meaning is lost on me.

The snigger emitting from my brother is of little help. "She wants Tea." He says over his shoulder before pushing out a chair from under the table with his foot. "Sit down sis. You're making the place look untidy."

Raising my eyebrow at the new turn of phrase I take the seat that has been offered. More because I feel uncomfortable standing over Dale than taking his comment at face value.

He smiles at me tilting his head to view the rigidity of my back, hooking a thumb nonchalantly over his shoulder towards the woman at the counter pulling mugs out onto its surface from a high cupboard. "I've told you about Rachel. Right?" He says, in such a way that gives the impression that he is uncertain.

I nod only once to the affirmative. "You mentioned you were married."

"Aye." The smile that spreads across his face telling me that he is pleased with himself. "Three years now."

"Four." Rachel calmly interjects, pouring steaming water into the mugs on the side.

Dale tilts his head, his forehead creasing in thought. Bringing his hand up in front of him he slowly extends each finger from his index to his ring, his lips moving quietly as he counts. "Did I miss an anniversary?"

"No." Rachel's heels take her over to the large white object in the corner, which Dale earlier pointed out as the 'fridge'. Pulling a white container from inside. "I stole you're credit card, remember?"

"Oh yeah." He says, wistfully. "Did I buy you anything nice?"

Her bark of laughter follows. "Those flowers were beautiful. Thank you." As she passes back toward the steaming mugs she rests her hand against his shoulder, the pads of her fingers pressing into his flesh to show her affection.

"Nothing but the best for my wife."

Gently I allow my back to rest back against the chair. Trying to remain as still and silent as possible as I watch the exchange. The deep tenderness they hold for each other is plan to see and on full display to my prying eyes. Not only that but the playfulness in the way they address each other is something that I had previously only been able to associate with my four new friends in Gryffindor house. It was not something I ever thought to be obtainable to someone with my upbringing. Yet here they both stand, defying the laws of my logic.

"So Jamelia." Abruptly Rachel abandons any further banter with her husband and focuses her attention on me. "Or do you prefer Jay?"

I clear my own awkwardness from the back of my throat, not certain if I would be comfortable hearing either name drop from my sister-in-law's lips . "Dale is the only one who calls me Jay. My Father is the..." I watch the anger cloud my brother's face and the muscles along Rachel's back clench at the mention of the man and quickly I correct myself. "My friends call me Jamie."

"Well..." She turns and places a steaming mug of light brown liquid in front on me upon the table, meaningfully catching my eye before continuing. "If it's alright with you, I'll call you Jamie."

I can feel the confusion clouding my features and I can do little to halt it. Instead I try to draw attention away from the look on my face with a curt nod and a calmly spoken. "Certainly." Whether she intended to do so or not, she has inferred that, even without having met me before that we stand upon friendly ground. Trust, that I had been so nervous about obtaining has already been given, freely.

She smiles again and I am struck with how sincerer the small gesture is. "Jamie it is then." The decisiveness of her tone is coupled with the resolute nod of her head and she turns away from me to retrieve her drink from the side. We are all quiet until Rachel takes her seat, squirming around upon the chair in a search of the most comfortable position and when she is happy she settles in. Pursing her lips together to blow air across the surface of her hot drink, catching on the steam and throwing it into a chaotic storm before fading away into nothing. She takes a sip and pulls first her lower then upper lip between her teeth. "So Jamie." My eyes are drawn up to meet her gaze, starting to become familiar with the smile that lights their depths. "How was your trip?"

My left eye twitches and I struggle not to narrow them as I study her body language. The question holds much more weight than she wishes to divulge, I can see it as she gazes intently over the rim of her mug waiting for my answer. "Quiet." I reply, keeping my eyes on her very expressive face.

Her eyebrows rise, indicating she had expected me to elaborate beyond a single word answer but it only takes her a moment to realize such a thing is not forthcoming. Her hands curl around her mug and she leans forward. "Just quiet?" she asks softly.

Words spring to the tip of my tongue. Unhindered, unabated. Begging and pleading to spill forth until the very moment I run out of breath. Instantly I know, unequivocally that this woman. This short, smartly dressed, muggle woman, with her calm patience and trusting face must be the one to have broken the protective casing that surrounded Dale when he left his childhood home all those years ago.

Leaning closer to her in my chair, my arms naturally land against the table top and my fingers threading through each other as I blink up into her warm features. Trying and failing to swallow the verbal vomit that is clambering up my throat and all the while she holds my gaze. Silently commandeering all of my attention with just a single glance. "I managed to get a bit lost in Glasgow Central. Other than that it was pretty uneventful." I have to literally drag my lower lip between my teeth to stop myself from explaining in detail my very boring train journey. How on earth is she able to do that?

She continues to smile and nods in amusement, which only make me want to tell her more. "You made it though." She changes her position again, her body moves but she never breaks her gaze. Leaning forward she rest her chin against her open hand. "Tell me about school."

Somehow I manage to flick my eyes from hers to catch site of Dale, who is remaining conspicuously quiet. A small smile playing across his lips as his fingers run along the rim of his mug, content to let his wife effortlessly pry this information from me.

As if under come compulsion my gaze rests once more on the endless pools of green that hold nothing but interest. "School?" I ask. Watching her nod enthusiastically with a low sound of encouragement in her throat. I shrug not really knowing how much a muggle could understand about a place like Hogwarts. "I don't know." Somehow I know she isn't questioning me on my academic achievements and I wrack my brain trying to come up with something, anything to say that might make her smile again, without descending into my usual arrogance. "I've got a close circle of friends, they're really good at helping me through, everything." Even as I wonder exactly where that came from, I remember Ginny counting off the minuets as I force myself to remain in the Great Hall and smile at the memory.

The interest never leaves Rachel's face but before I can delve into exquisite detail with regards to each and every relationship I am part of in the school, up to and including my uneasy trust of the potions master I am saved by a flicker of movement caught in the corner of my eye. "Is that supposed to be smoking?"

"Balls!" Dale exclamations literally jumping out of his chair and to his feet. The flame beneath the pan extinguishes and he waves his hand through the thick, black smoke in a bid to dispel it from the room. With a clatter the pan lands in the basin and Dale opens the cold water tap, all the while whispering quiet profanities such as 'Bollocks' or 'Bugger' to himself.

Rachel, who must have assessed the situation and deemed that the pan will not burst into flames at any moment, is content to softly chuckle at her husband. The soft teasing smile not leaving her lips for a moment even as Dale turns on the spot to glare in her direction.

He points and accusing finger at her. "You said ten minutes."

"I also said: boil in water." She returns.

"Yeah. I suppose you did." He says leaning back against the sink, running his hand over his hair, his fingers tugging on his fringe until it falls once more over his forehead. "Pizza?"

This question is directed at me and once more I feel like there is a whole new language that I must learn to be able to function even closely with the muggle world. "Urm..."

He doesn't wait for my confusion to clear, waving his hand in an almost dismissive gesture. "Don't worry. Everyone likes Pizza."


	28. Chapter 28: Acceptance

Chapter 28

Incidentally, pizza could quite possibly be the single most obscure and delicious food item I have ever encountered. I hasten to add I only truly discovered this once both little Danny and Dale had spent much of their mealtime convincing me that I did not need a knife and fork. It has to be said that it was my young nephew's enthusiasm that finally persuaded me. Somehow he had managed to get more tomato sauce over his face than actually in his mouth and he looked to be truly enjoying his meal. If only my father could see me now, descending into the barbaric and uncouth ways of the muggles. Forgoing the convention of cutlery, to break bread with my bare hands.

On the first morning I was left alone. I awoke to the gift of the sunrise, as normal, but remained in my room; gazing out of the window and watching the shadows shorten as the sunlight touched the earth.

It was strange, feeling the sun peak over the horizon, but not able to physically see it, feeling a pang in my chest to indicate the day had truly began. A daily ritual I have undertaken many times since I became a werewolf but I had never before done so surrounded by such silence. Hermione's even breathing was conspicuous by its absence. I knew I would miss her presence, her gentle comfort in the hours we would both be awake, but I honestly never thought I would crave the sights and sounds of her sleeping form in amongst the dawn chorus.

It is almost frightening to think how closely knit our lives have become that I cannot complete the simple task of rousing from my sleep without sparing a thought for her. A longing for the company of another, almost to the point of pain, is something I had not anticipated. The letters we share daily, hardly even quench the thrust and I can tell by the way she writes that she still worries about me, unimpeded by my attempts to calm her.

On that first day I didn't venture out until I heard the family clamber into one of the vehicles and leave the premises. At the time I thought they might have forgotten my presence. Now I wonder if they did it purposefully. Giving me time alone to become intimately accustomed to my new surroundings. Something I know I would have been unable to do under their supervision.

I hadn't been given any restrictions as to where I could venture so I explored the household. Learning it by touch as well as sight and smell. That was when I found what Rachel refers to as her study but I must agree with my brother, it is most defiantly a library. A small room crammed with bookcases all overflowing with texts of varying content. Fact and fiction, magical and muggle stood proudly, side by side. That small observation set the tone for the whole household.

Dale makes no secret of his magic from either his wife or the small boy. Entertaining them with both muggle illusions as well as intricately crafted spells from the tip of his wand at every opportunity. Everything about him is accepted by his family, even the short bursts of time he spends in recluse for no other reason than he needed solitude, a feeling I can sympathize with. I must have been at his home just over three days the first time it happened. I watched in silence as a shadow cast his features and amongst the bustle in his life he just stood from his chair and left the room. No one tried to stop him, no one followed. Just left him to get his thoughts in order and return in his own time. I'm certain they must have done that with me on more than one occasion, even if I cannot pin point an exact moment in time.

For years I had been convinced that someone like me isn't permitted the normalcies of everyday life. Since I have been old enough to walk and talk I have been trained to fight and die at the Dark Lords side. That was to be my lot in life. To serve my master in any way I could.

Being here, observing these people, not only makes me feel safe and wanted and needed but has also give me a vague hope that all of the things I have come to want in my life are available to me. All I have to do is reach out and take it, possibly even give part of myself away. I can serve up my heart to Hermione on a silver platter but I have yet to willingly share even one secret and the longer I spend in the presence of my brother – who has changed so much in such a short space of time with the support of his loved ones – the harder I find it to remember why I keep myself so guarded around her.

Young Danny is defiantly his father's son from what I have seen. I had initially attempted to stay as far from the child as possible. Not feeling comfortable around anyone so young, I have the distinct fear that I might unintentionally break them, with how tiny and fragile they look. I hasten to add that both my upbringing and my very nature have left me with very little maternal instinct but none the less this boy took every opportunity to seek me out, directly disobeying his parents on more than one occasion. A fact that did, for a fleeting moment, have me fear for his safety, until he revealed the truth to his mother himself at the next meal. He received nothing more than a stern word and a seething look for the indiscretion. It did little to deter him.

He would find me in the most obscure of places and the most unusual times. Often waking even before I do, with such an abundance of energy and curiosity it threatens to leave me breathless. It is clear that he has learned much from Dale, some things that I wouldn't class as altogether, desirable. Such as the habit of voicing his thoughts without inhibitions, often reverting to a previous subject when engaged in another, it is even more difficult to follow than when I speak to Ginny.

He is inquisitive by very nature and has become very interested in me. Asking question after question. It became apparent that the stories his father would tell him of his aunt and uncle, no matter how embarrassing they may be but were not enough to sate his curious mind. Once in a single breath me managed to enquire as to my younger brother James, my relationship with Hermione, the inner working of Quidditch and how it felt to be a werewolf.

That last question made the whole room fall silent and I could practically smell the nervous energy radiating in waves from the two adults. It wasn't easy to brush off the tension setting over my being, reminding myself that he is just a child who has no way of knowing the stigma attached to my particular disorder, enough to answer him. His parents must have pulled him aside to chastise him over the matter for he never spoke of it again.

With Rachel's gently coaxing voice it didn't take me long to truly feel like one of the small, unorthodox family. She made no secret of the fact that trust is an important part of her profession. Something that muggles refer to as a therapist. From what I can understand it's something along the lines of a medi-witch for your mental well-being, without magical intervention. The last part had me baffled for days, the inner workings of the human brain is largely a mystery to the magical world. Insanity, usually in its most violent form, is a strong reason to be ostracized. All of these things interest me for obvious reasons but I was still surprised when I approached her with regards to my fears of my mental health.

She'd been in the library, tapping away on that strange box which seems to obey her every command. That particular subjected I have steered away from after my embarrassing conversation with Daniel over the television. There are very few things in the world more degrading that having to listen to a four year old speak in a very slow voice encase you misunderstand him. Beaten only in the moment when you realise that you are listening to him with rapt attention, hoping that you might learn something useful.

She'd been so engrossed in her work that she hadn't noticed me at first. Though I must admit that I had been dubious to raise the topic of discussion with her, so it is entirely possible that my steps had been too quiet for her to perceive. However how she could have failed to hear my heart hammering against my breastbone I have no idea. Only when the door clicked behind me, did she glance up looking startled. "Jamie." She said. Pulling her glasses from off her nose and folding the arms across the lenses. "I didn't hear you come in."

I remember quite vividly being nervous and my body betrayed me. Without thought my hands rubbed together and I consciously averted my gaze from her questioning eyes with a softly mumbled. "Sorry."

I could hear her smile from right across the room. "It's okay. Did you want to talk about something?" Every day since my arrival she has been able to pry some nugget of information from me with that simple phrase. Until now I had no idea how desperately I wished to speak to someone about what was going on inside my head.

Before I could lose my nerve I blurted "Yes." Then ran my fingers through my newly cut hair. One of those bonding experiences that Dale had insisted upon. It's much shorter than I can ever remember it, which only makes it all the easier to run my hands through it whenever I have something on my mind. It's becoming a tell, one I know I should stomp out but cannot bring myself to try. "There's..." Then I did lose my nerve; breath halting halfway up my throat and stilling my tongue.

From the first moment she could read me like an open book and this time was no exception, she had immediately turned in her chair to give me her full attention. "What's the matter?"

I took a seat in one of the chairs, perching right on the edge and leaning my torso over my knees, looking down at my fidgeting hands as I listened to the gentle ticking of the clock. Trying to order the words I hadn't even contemplated speaking out loud until that moment. "I..." I remember shaking my head, thinking that the order I had chosen for my words to be stupid.

"It's okay Jamie." She said and I heard her place her glasses down at her desk. "Take your time."

That was enough, the gentle assurance and acceptance of whatever I wanted to say. No matter how obscure it may be. "I have this..." I couldn't believe how hard this was. All I needed to do was open my mouth and speak but years of holding my tongue for fear of reprisal seized me. I literally had to force my next words to leave my throat. "A voice." I know what I was saying didn't make any sense without a context and as I looked up at her I knew I would have to expand but the less I said the more I could convince myself it wasn't real. "In my head."

I watched her face become expressionless and she leaned back in her chair, patently waiting for me to continue.

"I don't know if this sort of thing is strange to muggles..." My teeth gritted then, more in frustration at my own inability to put my fears into words than their actual content. Yet another argument with Ammy had prompted me to come down here so I knew her to be lurking deep within the confines of my mind, unable to see exactly what I was doing. "I'm sorry." I dropped my head into my hands and wondered if sharing my feelings would ever get any easier.

"It's okay." She said gently, not moving from her seat. "It's clear this is causing you some concern. When did it start?"

"A few weeks ago." I left it there; I knew I wasn't in the correct frame of mind to explain to her how I called forth my Patronus.

"And you've kept this to yourself." It wasn't a question. It should have been but she already knew. I still nodded to confirm. "What does it say to you?"

Now that was a loaded question. When I met her eyes I didn't know where to start, in the end I settled on. "We argue."

That provoked a reaction. Her eyebrows lifted high on her forehead and I could see a thousand questions burning behind her eyes. She was quick to compose herself, blinking back her surprise. "What about?"

I felt a smirk lift the side of my mouth. "Everything. She just..."

For the first time since I had met her, she interrupted me. "She?"

"Yes." I could feel a lump crawling up the inside of my throat and a single bead of cold sweat sliding along my spine. I didn't know if I had made a mistake by coming to my sister-in-law with this. We barely knew each other and I wasn't certain if that made her easier to talk to or not.

She cleared her throat but kept her composure. "Does she have a name?"

I nodded, not completely certain on how to pronounce her full name. "I call her Ammy."

"Why?"

"Because it annoys her." I answered with honesty, a trait I am beginning to enjoy. "We're constantly prodding at each other. Just trying to rile each other up." At that point I couldn't tell if she was fearful of me or not.

"Is she listening to us now?" She asked.

"No." I said while shaking my head. "Usually she does. It's like I can feel her, she watches things through my eyes."

That seemed to confuse her but I couldn't understand why. "But not now?"

I felt my shoulders bunch into a shrug. "We had another argument. She wants me to..." I smiled then, a snort of laughter under my breath. "She wants me to talk to someone, not just about her, about everything. I refused she called me suborn and just... I don't know how she does it but she just disappeared."

"And now you're here talking to me about it." She said with a hint of a smile on her face.

"Yes. Almost makes the argument seem pointless now."

"Not at all." She stood from her chair and came closer to me. I hadn't expected that. I'd expected her to run screaming into the arms of my brother. Crying about how dangerous I was and then insist I leave before I could harm her son. Or the best case scenario, remain at a respectable distance, but as she walked over to me I couldn't smell a hint of fear anywhere in the room. She took my hand in hers and to my own surprise I allowed her to. Just watching as she took the seat next to mine. "Have you considered this could be part of your... condition?" She asks.

"Because I'm a werewolf?" I say. At some point Dale must have coached her on words that might provoke an adverse reaction from me and she has always been careful to avoid them. "It's crossed my mind. It's not something that's usual in people like me. The worst part is, I just don't know if she's part of my wolf or if it's just my mind breaking."

Her hand squeezed my fingers to grasp my attention. "Don't think like that."

That's when I felt the shudder in my breath and realized my whole body was trembling. Closer to tears then I ever remember being. "Am I going insane?" My words desperate and hollow, even to me. I think I could have coped with the idea that my mind was slipping away from me but I just couldn't decide whether she was the wolf or my subconscious and I couldn't come to a verdict, which eventuality I preferred.

She paused and the silence that followed threatened to deafen me in its intensity. She met my gaze before she spoke and I could see something, skirting around in her mind. "I don't believe so."

"But you think it could be something."

She shook her head at me biting on her bottom lip. "So much like your brother." She took a deep breath and I could see her trying to decide whether it would be a good idea to share her thoughts with me. "There are some tests I could run, if it would give you piece of mind but I really don't think they're necessary."

"Tests for what?" I said, grasping onto some notion, some vague hope, that I might be provided with some sort of answer to this secret that has been eating me from the inside out for weeks.

"Any number of things." She said. "It's a multiple chose paper test, if you think it will help I will print you one off but I really think that this is something that is magical not medical."

I sniffed back the tears that were threatening to leak down my cheeks and pulled my determination deep into my bones. Either way I had to know. "Give me the test."

It took less than half an hour to complete, I didn't even have to sit in since, Rachel was there through every question, reading them aloud and marking down my answers. After she sat me down and explained the whole thing to me, told me why I couldn't have any number of mental disorders that the paper was testing for and I had to admit that Ammy is the wolf inside me. The beast, pacing around within my chest, civilized and sometimes softly spoken. I didn't think it would be such a relief to discover that.

Rachel extracted a promise from me to find someone in school who I could confide in and I made her pledge that she would not tell Dale of our conversation.

Now as I pack away my things to return to Hogwarts I find myself equal parts saddened to be leaving the comfort of my brother's home and joyousness at seeing my friends again.

I hear Dale's footsteps approaching long before he reaches my doorway and leans against the door jam. "What are you doing?"

I feel myself smile. "Packing."

"I can see that." He says stretching out the start of his sentence only to rush through the conclusion. "You going somewhere?"

"I'd say so." I reply, my eyes still on my task of folding my shirt into my satchel. Adrian was right, this task is humbling. "It's a full moon tonight. I didn't think you'd want a viscous man eating beast around your son." The phrase is said so much in jest that I am taken aback by how much my views on my disorder have changed over the past months.

"Are you kidding? That boy has been asking me for a dog since he learned how to speak." We both snigger and I can smell the change in him as his mood becomes serious. "Do you really want to leave?"

I have to think about his question. Never before have I been so at odds with myself. Before I could not wait to return to the safety of the castle but my only time of unease in this house was when I first entered it. I enjoy my brother's company immensely, along with his family but that doesn't stop me from missing Hermione. "It's for the best." I answer still not removing my eyes from my task.

"That wasn't quite what I asked." He says as his feet carry him further into my room.

"I know." The last of my shirts drop into the bag and I finally turn to face him, bending my knees to take a seat on the side of the bed. "I'm not certain how to answer that." Honesty and openness is still something I'm coming to terms with. It's the strangest feeling of conflicting emotions I have ever encountered, tasting strange on my tongue but lifting a weight from my shoulders I had no idea I was bearing until now.

He takes a seat on the bed next to the recently packed bag. Looking up at me, already decided on what he wishes to tell me but unsure if the words will be received well. His actions may be far removed from my own, given the amount of time he has spent away from out father but he remains, even now as critically aware of his surroundings as I do. Somehow finding a delicate balance between when he knows he is able to speak freely and without thought, or when his words or movements demand careful consideration. It is a skill that I admit I am envious of but I have come to the conclusion that it can only achieved through trial and error, a task I am in no way looking forward to.

Something on my impassive face must spark a reaction in him because after a brief sigh he leans back, resting his elbow casually on the headboard. "You miss your friends."

I feel my jaw clench for a moment, irritated at having him read me so easily. It takes me only seconds to squash down the feelings into the pit of my stomach where they will be incapable of causing harm. In the nine days I have been under his roof he has given no indication at any point that he has any desire to harm me, nor the rest of his family for that matter, either physically or mentally. Not even the tiniest slither of perceivable temptation entered his body. So I see no reason to conceal my reasoning to return to my institute of education. "Yes."

The bobbing of his head shows me his understanding a moment before the side of his bottom lip is pulled between in canines and I watch him silently come to another decision. "But you're not exactly going to be able to spend any time with them tonight. Are you?"

I offer him a tight-lipped smile, thinking on the dank, dark room deep in the bowels of the castle that I must inhabit during my transformation and find myself saddened at the notion. "No. Unfortunately not." I know the small cell is not something that is favourable to Ammy either and as a cold slither of anger runs across my shoulders I know her thoughts closely resemble my own.

He stands so abruptly that I have the fleeting temptation to reach for my wand in defence. If this registers in my body language in any way he pays it no heed, only tilting his head towards the doorway with a softly muttered. "Come on."

I only remain stationary until his body disappears around the doorframe, then Ammy's sense of curiosity mingles with mine, provoking such a high level of inquisitiveness that I am defenceless against it. I follow in his footsteps all the way to the ground floor and out onto the gravel path around the back of the property. "Now don't fly off the deep end." He starts not turning towards me and leading me in the direction of his barn. "I couldn't get the ministry to approve you visiting without it and seen as it's here we might as well use it." He pulls a large bunch of keys from his pocket, spreading them out between his thumb and fingers.

"What exactly are you talking about?" I can feel unease creeping up along my spine, not faring well against the feeling after its long leave of absence.

He sighs, turning towards me for a moment, jutting out his lower jaw and pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth in thought. "It's better if I show you." He finally says with a decisive nod.

He has the padlock open a moment later and lifts the bar across the huge double doors.

My gaze runs up the side of the stone building, suddenly finding the high walls and thatch roof ominous. Feeling lost in the shadows it casts, hiding my skin from the afternoon sun. My heart beats hard in my chest as I follow Dale through the wooden door only for to stop dead at the sight before me.

It's plain to see that he has cleared away many of his belongings to make space in over half of the building, heavy steel bars run along the length of the room and around the walls. Straw liberally covers the floor and even though I am not ensnared within the confines of the massive cage I already feel the heavy sense of claustrophobia settling heavily against my chest.

Swallowing hard I try to force my legs to carry me across the floor but my knees threaten to give out under my weight if I attempt to bend them. So I settle for trying to squash down my terror into the pit of my stomach. Crossing my arms across my chest I try my very hardest to appear unaffected by this new development.

"Look, I'm sorry." He says and in the side of my vision I can see his palms held out to me in a pacifying gesture. He can see my fear and it reflects in his eyes, what exactly he has to dread about this situation is unclear but I know my ragged breaths calm to an almost manageable level at the sight of it. "I really am. That Umbridge character…" I can see his face twitch in annoyance at the mention of the woman. "She was very specific about this. You don't know how much I had to fight to build this thing above ground."

I swallow the lump in my throat and while hoping the shaking in my knees does not cause me to land flat on my face I approach the prison. Letting my fingers graze the cold steel.

'Yet another prison.' Ammy's disapproval is easily distinguishable in my mind. I knew she would have something to say on the matter but I am unable to seek her council with my brother still in the room. I have a bargain to live up to and I must ascertain if this can be factored into our agreement.

Dale clears his throat behind me and I cannot bring myself to look in his direction. "As long as you've taken your potion you should be fine in here. It's got to be better than anywhere they put you in the school." The emotion in his voice makes the knot in my throat twist and turn almost painfully.

The idea that he built this enclosure, with the specific intention of making me more comfortable during my transformation tonight, is something I had not expected. I have anticipated him to endure my presence while in human form. Casting me away like the dirty little secret I am when the time to become the beast arises. His thoughtfulness, tugging at my chest in gratitude, even if the notion of being copped up with no escape for the night makes cold sweat run along my spine.

The guilt invades my mind. I have neglected to drink my first dose of wolf's bane, living up to my side of the deal I have made with the wolf inside me. Although I had done so with the intention of returning to the school for the event, knowing that the walls will be thick enough to hold me as they have been tested over the previous months. These strips of steal might look strong and unyielding but have yet to be pitted against the unique animal residing within my skin.

A sense of nobility that I did not think I had even possessed strikes a chord inside of me. The bed of straw does look inviting in place of the old rags waiting for me in the deep bowels of the castle and it is possible that Ammy might be more placid when not so deep underground but I simply refuse to put this family in any sort of danger that I could potentially prevent.

My fingers wrap around the bar under my skin, undecided on how to proceed. To come to any sort of conclusion I simply must consort with Ammy. There is no escaping that fact but first I must remove my brother from earshot. My fingers touch each bar as I walk along the parameter. "Can I think about it?" I ask, still refusing to make eyes contact. I can feel Ammy pacing around behind my eyes and I am unwilling to risk him seeing her in their depths.

"Of course you can." He says instantly and I can hear his feet shuffling nervously from across the room. "Just don't take too long about it. Sunset is in a couple of hours." My strange internal body clock corrects him. Somehow knowing on instinct that the sun will dip below the horizon in exactly two hours and twenty-seven minuets. I shake off the thought and remain silent, attributing the feeling to the beast's willingness to be unleashed. "Oh you want me to…" He cuts himself off, clearing his throat as he recognises my stoic air for what it is, vaguely waving his hand in the direction of the doorway. "Alright. Just let me know."

Without tuning I nod my consent and listen to his retreating footsteps, following them across the gravel and I reach the door to the cage as he disappears into the household.

Wrapping my fingers around the steel I pull against it, feeling the new hinges resist and hearing their groan at being disturbed. "What do you think?" I ask the open air, knowing the beast behind my eyes will hear me.

'This prison is superior, but a prison just the same.' I can practically taste her aversion to this idea.

"Agreed." I say pulling the door closed behind me, just needing to feel the effects of the large space before I have no means of escaping them. I toe at the straw bedding, finding the layer to be much deeper than I had anticipated; the wooden floor has also been removed and beneath my feet is nothing but earth. I can't help but think such a luxury is foolhardy of my brother. Had Ammy the inclination she could dig her way out of her cell throughout the course of the night. Although he is unaware of the ineffectiveness of wolf's bane and would assume that I would spend the night curled up and asleep. "You'd have room to pace." I state not willing to draw attention to the state of the flooring and give her any ideas.

'That is favourable.' She muses, her ire diminishing slightly. 'And to feel the ground would indeed be a privilege.' My teeth clench at her observation, noting that she has not made any mention of escape but still feeling uneasy. 'Something troubles you.' She comments after a long pause.

"Are you in my thoughts again?" I ask raising my eye line towards the ceiling. The top of the enclosure is open air, I can see the thatch roof and support beams stretched high above me. The structural integrity is still kept intact by ridged strips of pained steel at each cornier, heavily welded into place.

'We both know I am not privy to your thoughts, Human." She says easily. There is little malice in my voice for her to respond to, since my conversation with Rachel a few days ago she has somehow become more tolerable and in turn I have been disinclined to bait her into an argument. I am uncertain if my tolerance of her existence has simply escalated or if she has changed her tactics for when we communicate but it matters little. The respite is more than welcome and we have been able to speak almost civilly, when in private. 'I feel your emotions, just as you do mine.'

"So you keep saying." I answer; distracted by my surroundings and my attention is caught by a glint of chrome buried in the straw. It is not that I do not trust her words; it is logical to assume that she has as much insight into my most private thoughts as I do over hers and she has not once indicated that she knows directly what it is I am thinking at any particular time. The fact that she is so perceptive is disconcerting after spending my entire life hiding my feelings from those around me but I am very slowly beginning to become accustomed to the feeling.

'I have never lied to you, Human.' She says, a growl detected in her voice ringing through my head. I pay it little heed, to preoccupied to be dragged into another bout of bickering with my wolf.

I make a low sound of acknowledgement in the back of my throat as my toe touches the bowl I have discovered, nestled in the dried grass, the crystal clear liquid filling the bowl ripples from the centre and a few drops spill over the side. How had I never thought to provide Ammy with such a simple necessity as water before?

I let one of my eyebrows dip low over my eyes at the realisation, somehow even subconsciously I had been denying the creature inside of me the same essential survival components, which have been refused me through much of my life. The only difference is that I had not even given a moment's thought towards it, not even acknowledged that she would even need such things and still I wonder why we quarrel.

"Do you want to stay here?" I ask, pulling myself from my depressing thoughts. Surprised at my own words; not being able to recall ever asking for her opinion before. It would appear that the discovery that I am not steadily going insane and Ammy is in fact a manifestation of the animal inside of me has a positive effect on my attitude towards her.

I can feel her in thought for several moments and I have the time to stride around the parameter, my clothing brushing against the cold steel. Testing the layout of the oblong enclosure, wondering if my long stride is a match for when my body is forced onto four paws.

'This is preferable.' She finally says and there is a distinct tone to her voice that shows her surprise over my question even after she has left such a stretch of time before answering. 'It is not under the stars but this should be sufficient.'

"You know I can't give you that." I say turning to rest my back against the bars and dropping my forehead into my waiting hand. Debating with myself as to whether to give voice to the one question that burns against the back of my tongue. "Can I trust you?" I feel her enquiry run along the length of my spine but she remains silent. Leaning my head back until I feel the chill of the metal touch my crown I cast my eyes around the enclosure. "I have no idea if these bars will hold you. Are you going to try and find out?"

'You keep that vile potion out of our blood and I will remain calm tonight. Regardless of where we are. Of that you have my word.' She answers without a moment's hesitation.

"That's enough for me." I say, pushing myself away from the bars and heading towards the door, intent on informing my brother that I wish to remain in his care for another night.


	29. Chapter 29: Worlds Collide

Chapter 29

My transformation went well. No, that's an inadequate way to describe it. I have quite frankly, never felt so refreshed after wakening from under the glare of the full moon. I felt comfortable in my own skin, like a weight had lifted, a pressure released. An unpleasant presence within my psyche, I had not noticed before it was absent. Even Ammy seemed more pleasant this morning. Not just my perception of her but her general tone, as if more relaxed when left unhindered by any of the potions I had been creating previously.

She was true to her word according to Dale and his family. They were a little concerned to hear my cries of agony as my bones cracked and changed in their barn but after that all was quiet. It may have something to do with Dale dragging what I can only describe as half a cow into the enclosure moments before the sun fell below the horizon. The portion of fresh, raw meat was all but cleared from the floor when I awoke, so was much of the bone. A fact that I had thought would have me vomiting profusely come morning, my human stomach unable to digest such sustenance. However my body surprised me, the wolf inside of me gorging itself throughout the night and I had no negative repercussions. Although I will admit that I awoke to a full stomach and had no need of breakfast, something that I will need to commit to memory for a later date.

Another development I had not perceived was my total lack of conciseness throughout the entire event. As if I had mealy blinked and missed the entire thing. No terrifying nightmares that have little meaning, starting me awake with sheen of cold sweat coating my skin. Only the inky blackness of non-cognitive thought, lost somewhere in my mind, while Ammy prowled around her enclosure. In truth I cannot say if this is due to Ammy making her presence known me, or the fact that I have refrained from taking any further potions to subdue her and honestly I couldn't care less. So long as I do not have to endure the burning embers through the eyes of Nanauatl nor the heavy weight covering my body in the body of Malina ever again.

It was before midday when I requested to be returned to school, the notion of wakening just once more, cold and alone making a knot of tension coil in the pit of my stomach in a most unpleasant of ways. My brother begrudgingly agreed to transport me back to the castle grounds, after extracting a promise that at my next visit I would stay the entire length of time afforded to us. Even going so far as to instruct me that Hermione was to also be a welcome presence in their household.

Coincidently side-along apparition with Dale was the single deciding factor for me to learn to perform the magical form of travel myself at the very earliest opportunity. He was able to reach our destination, eventually. After three failed attempts, twice landing in the wrong area of Scotland, one of which I came very close to having a finger unceremoniously spliced from my hand, we landed at Hogsmead station. Apparition is a magical practice that requires an abundance of concentration and direction. Two things of which, unfortunately for me, my brother is severely lacking in when the object of focus does not consist of four wheels and an engine.

The moment my feet land on solid ground I push against my elder siblings chest to put as much distance between us as possible, not wanting to endure such a transit again if it is not necessary. He chuckles at me, his hand sliding along the back of his neck and his cheeks colouring in mild embarrassment. "Sorry about that."

Resisting the urge to push my palm against my chest, hoping that the action may be able to contain my pounding heart in my ribcage where it belongs I shoot him a wide eyed look. "You're sorry?" I can hear the mortification in my own voice as I begin to take a mental inventory of all my external body parts.

I hear his clothing rustle and know intuitively that he has lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "Yeah well, we're here now."

How can he possibly be so unfazed by such a thing? "Maybe you should take the train back." I reply happy that my body is still as nature intended and genuinely concerned for my brother's safety.

He mealy scoffs, wavering off my apprehension. "Na, I've been travelling like this for years. I usually end up where I'm supposed to be. And besides." His eyes stop darting around the landscape and meet mine in a meaningful look. "Can you imagine me, me having to sit still for six hours?"

I manage to keep a straight face, for a whole six seconds before my teeth flash in authentic amusement. Something I'm very proud of. Strange to think that less than a fortnight ago the jest would very likely have gone right over my head. What a difference a day makes. "No. I think it would be cruel to subject the other passengers to such a torment."

"My thoughts exactly." His nod is deceive and he turns his attention to my satchel, pushing his thumb against the strap and sliding it off his shoulder, holding it out for me to retrieve. "You gonna be alright?" He asks when the bag leaves his grasp, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking back and forth on the soles of his feet.

I nod, shouldering the bag and pushing it further around my back, balling my firsts and pushing them deep into my pockets. "I'm sure I can find my way back from here." My smile drops as I regard my brother, my head tilting slightly to the side and eyes narrowing slightly in concentration, as I observe him with a critical gaze. His posture screams that he is nervous about something. Even though his hands are tightly clasped behind his back I can see his shoulders twitching, straining against the temptation to fidget. He pushes air into his cheeks, puffing them out, pushing the air from one side to another and his eyes stay riveted to the floor. "Have I said something wrong?" I ask, his stance causing nerves to rise along the back of my neck.

"No." He is quick to say, losing concentration and in turn control of his upper limbs. One arm pulls free and immediately his hand encasing the back of his neck once more, his fingers pushing through the short hairs he finds there. "It's just…"

Old habit takes hold of me, my tongue stills in my mouth, not wanting to be the first to speak and an almost uneasy silence falls between us. I shift my feet from under me, trailing my gaze along the desolate train tracks so I have no way of unintentionally pressuring him into finishing his sentence.

"I kind of just… oh bollocks." His palms scrub against the back of his head in frustration and suddenly he blurts. "Do you want to get a Butterbeer before you go back to the castle?"

Instantly my eyes are on him, both eyebrows raised in question. "A Butterbeer?" My forehead then creases in confusion at his reaction. He tries to act nonchalant but his sheepish expression gives him away, there is an ulterior motive to him wanting to share a drink with me. The concealed reason should be plain for me to see but continues to elude me. Eventually I have to concede the defeat with a frustrated sigh and a whispered. "Why?"

He shrugs again pulling confidence from some unknown place and forces his blue eyes to meet mine. "I was hoping to meet your friends."

For a few long moments I only blink in his direction, wondering how I could have overlooked that desire. How it were possible that I needed to ask him to clarify. The answer to my own query strikes me like a blow to the chest. Never before has any member of my family expressed an interest to be in the presence of a group of people I hold so dear. I'm certain my mother may well have expressed the sentiment but at the time I had no close friends in which for her to be interested in.

He shuffles his feet and I can see a cloud of rejection covering his features. "It's fine, we don't have to." Instantly I know I have taken far too long to reply.

So I step forward, wondering how I can salvage his good humour. Pressing my fingertips against my forehead I try desperately to put my thoughts into words. "I had no idea I was coming back today, I haven't arrange to meet anyone."

His eyes fill with the warmth of his smile as he raises his gaze, shrugging his shoulders again in a show of casualness. "I can still share a drink with my sister, can't I?" The inside of his bottom lip pulled between his front teeth, mirth shining brightly in his eyes. "So long as you can bear to be seen with an old wizard like me."

I sigh slowly at his abrupt behavioural change and wonder, not for the first time, what might happen if he were to spend any sort of substantial time with Ginny, both of them bouncing from subject to subject in rapid succession. I can't imagine that I would be capable of keeping up with such a conversation. "You're twenty-five." I point out already turning on my heel and heading towards the magical village.

It doesn't take much for him to catch up with me with his long gait. "Yeah well, when I was your age…" He starts, hunching his back over and holding his hand out to the side to mimic the use of a cane, his voice become nasally in the imitation of a much older man. "… I was under the impression that anyone over a quarter century resembled plankton."

I turn my head to show him my single raised eyebrow. No matter how old a person might be I find it hard to compare them to the microscopic sea creatures. I could stretch to a comparison to mer-people, perhaps if based solely on the wrinkled skin but most certainly no other form of marine animal.

I don't dignify his jest with any such answer, only quickening my stride into the village and find the path of least resistance to The Three Broomsticks, my brother smiling to himself the whole way, his eyes drawn to the shops lining the main street and down the darkened side streets. "This place hasn't changed." He comments more to himself in a haze of nostalgia.

I don't speak; only observe him in my peripheral vision, as I have no intention of breaking him out of his ravine. He only settles his eyes in the direction he is walking when I pull open the door to the public house and hold it open behind me for him to take.

The Three Broomsticks is a haven of activity when we enter, much of the student body still permitted to visit the magical village throughout the holiday. Through the din of drinks being slurped, the clatter of cutlery and constant conversation, my highly sensitive ears only take a heartbeat to pick out that one voice that I had been pining for throughout my absence from the school. "I know Ginny. I'm just worried about her."

My eyes seek out the source of the voice and find the back Hermione's bushy head. I know the longing is visible in upon my face but try as I might I cannot suppress it, the feeling too strong to be controlled under my usual mask of indifference.

I hear the redhead reply but cannot tear my eyes away from Hermione. "She's a big girl now. I'm sure she's fine."

The tension is plain to see in my partner's shoulders, even as she quietly concedes. "I know." A response so false you would need to be deaf, dumb and blind not to notice it.

Ginny is none of these things and when I finally pry my eyes from my beloved I can see her shoulders sag in defeat having nothing further to say.

Two large hands land on my shoulders, drawing my attention away from the interaction between my two friends. "Go on." Dale says, I know that from this distance and over the resounding commotion of the establishment he is unable to hear the conversation as I do but he must have been able to interpret the direction of my gaze from the moment I walked through the door. "I'll buy you a drink." His grasp tightens on me before he moves away in the direction of the bar.

Pushing my bag further over my shoulder I begin to traverse the room, having to squeeze between tables and patrons alike, until I come upon their table, neither of them turning to acknowledge me. "She's still writing to you." Ginny states trying to calm my girlfriend, it quickly becomes apparent that Hermione has confided at least some of my fears to the younger girl. A fact that should fill me with fury but instead I feel almost relived that she has been able to express herself to someone at the school.

"I know." She starts and I can hear the agitation in her voice, at once I regent not returning sooner to put her mind at rest. "But what if someone else is writing them?"

I come up behind her and Ginny's green gaze meets mine but a moment before I announce my presence. "Have you seen Dale's handwriting?" Hermione turns in her seat, her arms open, one clutching the back of her chair, the other braced against the table's edge. "It's atrocious."

Without warning she launches herself at me, her hands close over the lapels of my jacket and pull her high onto her toes, until her lips push against mine with an urgency we have never before displayed in public. The desire to have her closed in the circle of my arms all but overtakes me. My satchel dropping to the floor and my arms clench around her, pulling her flush against my torso in a single movement. One kiss of greeting immediately leads to another of affirmation, both of us on some level needing the intimate form of contact just to assure ourselves that the other is so close.

One of her hands slides up along my chest and across my cheek, warming my face with both her body heat and the strength of her affection. Almost making me wish our meeting had happened somewhere much more private, giving me the opportunity to suitably show her how much I had yarned for her touch since my departure.

Only Ginny gently clearing her throat is enough to separate us. Hermione's brown eyes dart across my features before settling on meeting my gaze. "You've had your hair cut."

Rumbling laughter bubbles up from deep in my chest, our position and her softly spoken observation at odds with each other to such an extent that it borders on absurd. "That's all you have to say to me?" I speak around a beaming smile.

She nods with ecstatic energy returning the grin and sliding her hands down my torso and under my arms to push her palms against my shoulder blades. Pulling me still closer and tucking her head under my chin.

Resting my lips once against her hair I indulge myself, drawing in her scent through my nostrils and feeling my eyelids close in pure pleasure over the simple act. "We are causing a scene, My Love." I say quietly, even now able to feel the eyes of the people around us with my eyelids hiding them from my gaze.

With much more haste than I neither anticipate nor appreciate she has her hands against my chest, aggressively pushing me back and away from her so she can look up at my wide eyes. "Was that a nickname?"

I feel my eyebrows bunching together and lowering over my eyes in thought. In truth I had misspoken, I had meant to call on her by name but the short term has slipped from between my lips unhindered by my own insecurities. "I suppose it was." Her lips press once more against mine in a chaste kiss before drawing away from me and turning to take her seat, knowing me well enough not to dwell on the matter.

A hand runs down my lower arm and her fingers tangle with mine, pulling me down to take the seat next to her. Our joined hands landing on the table and she slides the palm of her free hand along the back of mine to hold me securely.

I share another smile with her and let my attention wonder to the other side of the round table. For the first time seeing Ginny's nose pressed deeply into a small book no longer than her palm. Gently whispering the phrase 'My Love' to herself as she eyes dart across the page.

My fingers run through my short hair to scrub at the back of my head in a habit I am quickly forming. "What is she doing?" I ask Hermione. Not wanting to take Ginny's attention from the writing in front of her. It is not often I see her so engrossed in the written word and it is indeed a pleasure to see her so intent on what she sees.

I hear a long sigh at my side. "She's checking who won."

"Won what?" I ask already knowing I will not be pleased with the answer.

Her fingers tighten around mine, weather to placate me or to hold me in place I am unsure but her next words have my eyes widening in shock. "The betting pool."

I can feel my jaw, hanging loose at the joint. How had I not been aware of this? I am usually so observant to the things happening around me and with my improved senses as of late it is almost unfathomable that I could have let this pass without notice. "You've been betting on me?" I direct my question to the top of Ginny's head, which is still bowed over her book.

She shrugs. "I opened a book." She looks up and shoots me a grin, pulling the small tome further apart and presenting it for me to see. "Literally."

She isn't prepared for the speed in which I reach out and pluck the tiny pages from her fingers. Turning it in my hand I let my eyes scan the pages, looking for any name I recognise in amongst the sea of people who should by all rights have little interest in my love life. Finally I find Ginny's name. "Ambrosia Muff?" I say equal parts disgust and amused. "How much did you put on that?"

She huffs in my direction. "Only a sickle and you like Greek myth… and stuff. I couldn't think of anything else."

"Wasting your money Ginny." I say flinging the betting book across the table, which she snatches up in her eager paws, turning a page and still searching for her champion.

The hands holding mind tighten to grasp my attention and Hermione worries her bottom lip. "You're okay with this?"

My shoulders bunch in a shrug and I can feel my cheeks tighten in a smile. "Yeah, why not?" I have at least a portion of my family firmly back in my life and the woman I love holding me tightly in her grasp. Nothing will spoil this mood for me, especially not a betting pool that has obviously been the source of entertainment for many of the people around me, whether I am familiar with them or not.

When my gaze rests back on the redhead her attention is firmly placed on me, her jaw slack and the book pulled open but forgotten in her grasp.

Tilting my head slightly at her peculiar behaviour I attentively question. "What?"

"You're smiling." She states simply, acting as though such an action must be the beginning signs of Armageddon.

"Yes." I answer slowly, brushing off the nagging feeling that this could be a verbal trap. Ginny is capable of such things but I have yet to see her do so maliciously, so summoning all my bravery I push forward. "I have been known to smile on occasion."

"Nu-huh." She contracts with a few choice negative sounds in the back of her throat. She turns to Hermione for aid, who steadfastly declines to answer by placing the focus of her eyes firmly on the table top. Without aid Ginny chooses to continue. "Smirk defiantly. Grin sometimes but you never, ever smile."

My eyes catch Dale as he slowly progresses from the bar to our table, two tankards overflowing with foamy Butterbeer in his hands. With a distracted tone I regard Ginny. "I had no idea showing amusement was so complicated."

One of the metal containers hit the surface of the table and he slides it into my hand, smiling brightly at the other two occupants and almost about to burst with excitement. "Hi." Both of the women in my company fall silent at the unexpected intrusion. Dale for his part completely ignores the reaction pointing a finger at Ginny. "You must be…" He catches me opening my mouth to formally introduce them but cuts me off. "Don't tell me. I can get this." He only releases me from his gaze when my teeth close with an audible snap, his eyes flicking down to my hand still held between both of Hermione's. "So you must be Ginny." He directs once more towards the redhead though I can see his muscles twitching in barely contained excitement to meet the woman sitting quietly beside me.

I very nearly feel repentant for the redhead, not quite knowing how to react and meekly nods at my brother. Letting her hand be swallowed up in both of his as he enthusiastically shakes her arm with such ferocity, it rocks her entire torso. "It's such a pleasure to meet you. I've heard so little about you."

I roll my eyes at his choice of words. Where it is true I keep the particulars of the people I most care about close to my chest it is uncouth of him to draw attention to the fact. Still, I keep my unspoken promise, concealing my disapproval and letting him introduce himself in his own way.

He turns towards Hermione and with one more glance down at our clasped hands meets her brown eyes with a beaming smile. "You must be Hermione."

"Y-Yes." She slowly says and I can hear the hint of a nervous stutter in her voice.

Dale openly apprises her in a way that would cause my blood to boil had he not been my flesh and blood, before meeting my eyes and nodding his approval at her physical appearance. Suddenly I am beginning to realise this isn't the cleverest thing I have ever allowed to transpire.

One side of my face twitches almost unnoticeably in annoyance at his actions, as the only outward show of my displeasure at his actions. "Hermione." I pause until she turns her attention to me then lean back in my seat, taking up my tankard in my unoccupied hand. "It is my esteemed privilege to introduce Dale Desay."

He huffs at my formal introduction. "I'm your bloody brother Jay. You don't have to be so formal about it."

I shrug at him. I am nothing if not a product of my upbringing. My mother instilled in me a firm sense of decorum and my father taught me how to use it to my advantage.

Over the past ten days he has become accustomed to my facial cues and immediately knows that I have no intention to answer his reprisal. He waves a hand in my direction and dips down to take a drink, licking the foam moustache from his upper lip as he does.

Hermione thankfully does keep at least a little sense of propriety. "It's a pleasure to meet you Dale." Even though I can hear the wariness in her voice. I have not forgotten the assumptions she must have made regarding my home life and I have yet to fully inform her. A mistake I do intend to rectify, though I have little idea on how I might accomplish that without my tongue tying itself in knots.

It is not often I pray to any of my gods. Give worship in my private thoughts with almost every breath most certainly but very rarely request anything of them. The look that spreads across Dale's face has me calling each deity I can remember in the short stretch of time, pleading with them to make sure that the next thing out of his mouth is not embarrassing. Trying to hide behind my tankard as I take a mouthful of foamy beer.

"Pretty and proper. Now I see why you like her."

It could have been worse, so much worse. So many stories he could have just jumped right into without prompt as he had been doing for the last ten days. In all honesty that was exactly what I had expected, his short comment however was not, this has me chocking on the beer in my mouth with such vigour that the bubbles fly up and cover my cheeks. The distinct sound of drowning heard for but a moment before I pull the cup away, dropping it to the tabletop to wipe at my face, still coughing and spluttering to try and force air back into my lungs.

Hermione releases my hand. Both of my palms close over my cheeks letting me feel the evidence of my embarrassment, as the burning twinge of scarlet covers both my neck and face.

That it itself sets the tone for the entire conversation thereafter. Ginny jumping into the bandwagon in the new game devised between her and my brother to see, and I quote. 'Who can make either myself or Hermione turn the most interesting shade of red?' By the time my drink was finished I had given serious consideration to forsaking my gods in the same way they have abandoned me this evening.

When my brother finally stood to leave with tears of laughter in his eyes and announced he would depart for the evening I very nearly put the flat of my foot to his backside in encouragement. However I managed to refrain from of violence, even when he sent a wink in Ginny's direction with a wish to repeat the experience a second time whenever possible.

The three of us also gathered our things to return to Hogwarts, leavening the public house to head back up to the castle before we could be accused of being out of bed after hours. He pulls me aside as we depart waiting until the two girls are out of earshot to begin speaking. They only look back at my absence and begin to slowly amble their way up to the castle.

"Can you make it back from here?" He asks, seating his sights to the floor and shuffling his feet, giving the impression that this is not the reason he had silently asked me to remain behind.

"I'm sure I can remember the way."

"Yeah." He nods, meeting my gaze. "I like her." He says, referring to Hermione.

Some warm emotion spreads through me, feeling like sunlight bathing my skin. "I didn't ask for your approval." I say, regretting the words the moment they leave my mouth. I had not asked for it, nor even been awaiting it but now that it has been said I have no wish for him to revoke his sentiment.

"I know." He says with a wide grin. "But I'm giving it anyway." He shrugs his shoulders trying to appear nonchalant but the look in his eyes betrays him. Pride. He's proud of me and I cannot fathom why, but it slithers into my very soul, lighting me up from the inside out. "So yeah." He clears his throat evidently at a lost for what to say. "Stay in touch." His teeth worry his top lip.

"I will." I adjust my bag against my shoulder, also hoping the conversation, which is rapidly becoming uncomfortable will reach its end. "I better get back to school."

He nods his consent and I turn to leave, only managing a few strides before I hear. "Jay." Upon turning in my brother's direction I am immediately caught up in his arms, crushed against his chest in a desperate embrace. After stiffening to a painful degree for only a few moments I curl my arms around his upper body, accepting the affection in a way that I would not have dreamed of only ten days ago. "I'm gonna miss you." He says and had it not been for my advanced hearing I doubt I would have heard him.

I take a step back from him, becoming uncomfortable with the duration of time I spend pressed against his chest and resting my gaze on the floor I reply. "I'll miss you too." Our eyes meet and we share a silent exchange of respect and fondness before I turn once more to catch up with my fellows.

"Oh, one more thing." I cannot suppress the irritated sigh as he makes me turn towards him for a second time. An orb flies through the air in my direction and I have to lose the grip on my satchel to catch it in both hands. Running the skin of my palm against the pomegranate he has sent in my direction with a warm-hearted smile. "Enjoy the Thesmophoria."

I laugh in his direction, throwing the fruit into the air and catching it one handed. "I'm sure I will. Bye Dale." I call turning and falling into a light jog to catch up with my classmates.


	30. Chapter 30: Warmest of Welcomes

Chapter 30

The track up to the castle is by no means arduous but the ominous sight of the building ahead is enough for me to slow my steps. That network of stone, such a short time ago, represented the only means of indisputable protection that I had at my disposal. The wards, charms, and thick brick all compiled in a blanket of safety that would overtake me whenever I would return from the holidays.

Now all I can see is the black, cold expanse of a prison, one woman vying for a power that reaches far beyond her capabilities. Umbridge, day by day, chipping away at the school and trying to warp it to the ministry's design. Her mounting power over both the students and the teaching staff are enough for me to feel the cold shoulder of many, due to my disorder and one woman's view of it.

I have often returned home early from the holidays, fearful that another day without sustenance will be my ultimate undoing. Always returning to the safe confines of the castle itself. Today is the opposite. The building is haunted by cold stares and jeering comments and yet I find myself leaving the warmth of a newfound family for the purpose to step back into the embrace of a single woman.

When my long, steady gate swallows the distance the two women have been able to gather between us, Hermione stops. Turning in my direction to wait for me to catch them up. When I am close enough I drop my arm over her shoulders, shooting a grin in her direction when her arm slithers across my spine so her fingers can rest against my hip, noting only a moment later that when it is I that initiates the physical contact I do not have such adverse effects to it.

Nothing is said for several moments, the only sounds are three pairs of feet has they amble along the cobblestone and I start to get the distinct impression that I might have interrupted a conversation with my presence.

Just as I am about to offer to depart Ginny breaks the almost awkward silence. "So, does Dale approve?"

I turn my gaze sharply in her direction, hoping that I might have misheard. However with that particular sense being so sensitive I don't see how that could be possible. "I'm sorry?"

She doesn't turn to face me, keeping her eyes facing forward to the winding path ahead. "Of Hermione. Does dale approve?" At my silence she does meet my gaze and must see the slacked jawed expression that I cannot wipe from my face. "Oh come on. I have six older brothers and several ex-boyfriends. I know that look."

However amusing trying to imagine Ron forbidding his younger sister from ever even looking on another boy in a provocative manor may be, I have to remove it from my mind's eye and asses any sort of damage my answer might have. It's not something I've ever encountered before. Is approval from your partner's family considered desirable? I have no qualms with answering Ginny on this particular matter but Hermione stands within earshot, pressed against my side in fact. Giving the foliage along the side of the path such an abundance of attention that it is clear she is listening intently for my response. "You think perhaps a relationship with another witch would gain their endorsement?" I say. I know I am deflecting from the question and I know that both of my companions can see this for what it is.

"For the record, Michel might be clingy but he still has the right parts. For me at least." She uses her index finger to point accusingly in my direction. "And that does not get you off the hook, missy."

The ground beneath our feet evens out as we near the castle and we pass beneath a stone archway into a courtyard. "Yes. Dale approves." I state simply. I have no more information to impart so I fall quiet; encouraged by the light squeeze I receive from the arm around my waist.

As we walk Ginny leans forward to look across my body. "See." Thrusting an index finger in Hermione's direction. "I told you."

"Yes." Hermione says very slowly. "But do you have to be so direct about it?"

Ginny makes some sort of noise of dismissal in the back of her throat, waving her hand and turning her gaze back in the direction she was walking. "This way is faster, you were just going to pussyfoot around it."

"Language." Hermione chastises with little malice, I can still hear the smile laced within her voice. Clearly Dale expressing his like for her is something that pleases her enough to overlook Ginny's foul mouth, at least on this occasion. Her arm tightens around my weight to grasp my attention. "Have you eaten?"

I knew it wouldn't be long before she asked that question, that attentive curiosity that sounds so innocuous now carrying much more weight. "I have." I answer truthfully. In complete honesty I don't think I could consume another bite today. Rachel managed to get both a lunch and dinner into my belly before Dale was prepared to bring me back to school. Even though I still felt insanely full from Ammy's banquette the night before. "Why, are you hungry?" I quickly ask, only just realising she might have asked for her own personal need to eat.

She shoots me a look that I have never seen upon her face before and I am only able to describe it as both perplexed and surprised. In its wake I find myself wondering if I had always been so selfish as to think such questions were only for my benefit alone. She has to physically shake her head to be able to speak. "No…urm." She clears her throat. "No, I'm fine."

I turn from her, not being comfortable with the look I have inadvertently placed upon her face. Trying not to be affected by this new development and wracking my brain for a way to drive the conversation away in a new direction so I no longer have the feel the tight knot of guilt resting in my chest. "Did I miss anything at the meetings?" It is unwise the speak of Dumbledore's Army while not in the sanctity of either the room of requirement or tucked away in Hermione's room but I have run my advanced senses up the staircase we currently climb and along to the corridor leading to her chambers. We should remain alone and unheard for the rest of our journey.

"Not bad." This topic does have the added benefit of peaking Ginny's interest enough to renter the conversation. Add that to the fact that she trusts me to know when and where to bring it up so we will not have to worry about eavesdroppers. "Neville still can't hit the broad side of a bloody Norwegian Ridgeback though. He does manage to cast the spells now but we all run for cover whenever he tries."

I make a sound in the back of my throat to indicate that I am listening. Not quite ready to speak as I am still pondering how I can be more considerate in the future.

I feel Hermione shake her head against my side before pulling herself closer against it and Ginny takes a very exasperated breath as we reach the head of the staircase. "You've got to learn to share those thoughts with the whole class. You just make a sound like that, I become more interested."

With a sharp turn of my head she has my full attention and I have to physically restrain myself from apologising. On a lot of levels not wanting her to know I had been contemplating two completely different things as she was speaking. "Many of the methods I know of that improve aim aren't exactly what you'd call orthodox."

"You mean they're painful." Ginny says, with a distinct note of disapproval coating her tongue and colouring her voice.

Her sentence does make me wonder how much these two have spoken about me in the past ten days. Considering Hermione only has the assumptions I have allowed her to create at her disposal I can't imagine she would have divulged them all to the redhead. However that does not rule out the possibility, the fact that she cannot confirm her suspicions in no way negates the need for her to seek outside help in order cope with them. Or even in her own way aid me.

As outlandish as it may seem, the thought of Ginny being privy to my childhood does not fill me with either contempt or fear. She has, as of yet not used the information maliciously, nor completely confirmed her knowledge. Only choosing a certain order of her words that may or may not implicate it. It is highly possible that they have spoken at length over Hermione's assumptions over the mistreatment I faced throughout my childhood. It is equally as probable that I am simply reading too much into Ginny's words. The strangest concept is that I find I do not have any strong aversion to either.

Returning to the matter at hand, it has to be said that there are many merits to commending success and punishing failure. I am a shining example of that. In that regard my parents were two sides of the same coin. My father of course always the cold hand of reprisal. Striking out in any way he saw fit, usually brutal and painful but always obvious. In direct contrast, with a single glance my mother was able to convey her pride of an achievement. That bright light shining in her eyes and there was never any need for words or gifts. That single emotion was enough.

I don't wish to lie to my friends so I keep myself vague. "Not all of them." Even my father could be understanding in the times before I grew into an adolescent. Even he seemed to realise that we are not born with the knowledge of these spells and we must all first learn them, his only true failing in that regard was that he firmly believed that one lesson should be enough. Those particular training sessions were much more constructive. "I'll talk to Harry about it." I pledge after a long moment.

All three of us come to a stop at Hermione's door, the Gryffindor common room down the hall at some undisclosed location.

Making no move the enter the small quarters Ginny stops pushing her hand flat against her chest and having an expression of immense gratitude clouding over her features. "If you could do that we will all sleep easier in our beds."

"Yes, I'm certain." I reply, knowing that she is trying to be humorous but the joke, as is most often the case, flies over the top of my head and out of reach. Hermione pulls her body from my lose embrace to press against her door, whispering her password to grant her entrance.

Ginny pulls a big grin across her face taking a step back and clearly indicating that she has no intention of being in our company any longer. "Well. I'll just leave you ladies to it." She winks and that is the second time that I have creased my head in confusion over the action. "Nighty night." She calls, turning on the ball of her foot gracefully and retreating to her room.

"Why does she do that?" I ask Hermione, obediently following behind and closing the door quietly when we have both entered.

Hermione immediately takes a seat at her desk, bending over to pull her shoes from her feet and massaging her feet when they are free. "Do what?"

"She winked at me." I answer already feeling stupid for bringing it up. In general I do know the meaning of the gesture, to convey something privately as a jest or a secret. However in this instance I am completely clueless as to what that could be.

Hermione laughs; whether at my ineptness or the impactions of Ginny's actions I am unsure. "She was being crass."

Now I am completely baffled. I rest my satchel down at the side of her desk, already decided that I will wait until later to empty it. "She didn't say anything crude."

"She didn't need to." Now barefoot she stands and presses her palms against my hips until her arms encircle me and I am forced to rest my upper limbs over her shoulders.

Without her shoes our difference in height is much more extenuated and I have to look down on her to show the confusion I feel. I know my actions much of the time are far from glaringly obvious but I do wish that the people I have chosen to surround myself with would, when it comes to matters like this, be less subtle about it. "She merely bid us goodnight." I observe out loud. Finding out very quickly that my newfound openness might be able to answer some questions over my friend's behaviour from time to time.

"Sweetheart." She starts, her eyes twinkling with mirth that shows across her brood smile. "I don't think she was implying we would be sleeping much tonight."

"Oh." I say far too quickly, before I give myself time to comprehend what she is saying. "Oh." I repeat much more slowly, unsure if I should feel embarrassed or not. "That actually makes a lot more sense now. Thank you."

She giggles once more and pushes herself closer into my personal space so she can draw herself higher on her toes and still use the lengths of my body to lean against. "You're welcome." In the blink of an eye her lips are on mine. The slow open-mouthed rhythm leavening no room for misinterpretation as to the direction My Beloved wishes the evening to take.

Running my elbows down her forearms to grasp at the curve of her shoulders I pull her closer to me. Wanting to be wrapped in her sent, in her cries of passion and most importantly her limbs.

Her hands reach under my already un-tucked shirt, pressing against the curve of my spine, her tongue pressing against my lower lip, gently demanding entrance, which is given to her freely. The small strong organ slips slowly past my teeth touching the tip of mine in an enticing invitation to dance. It lifts unabated by any of my inhibitions to bend to her will, following its partner's retreat the moment it begins.

The sensation of a foreign feeling slithers across my spine, which makes me begrudgingly push against Hermione's shoulders and our lips part audibly. For just a moment she looks up at me, her breath as deep and raged as my own, looking confused by my actions.

My thumbs pass over the neckline of her woollen jumper to graze along the flesh at either side of the column on her neck only moments before my palms enclose it and the tips of my fingers brush lightly against the thin hairs along its nape.

Trying, and I might add, failing miserably to control my rapid breaths I rest my forehead against hers. Almost forgetting why I had called a halt to the entanglement as I look into her brown eyes; coloured two shades darker in a visible show of her arousal. "Hold that thought." I instruct, barely above a whisper.

I step out of the circle of her arms and for just a moment she looks about ready to protest until she sees me heading in the direction of her adjoining bathroom. I close the door to the sight of her shaking her head and reaching downwards to the hem of her jumper in a clear signal she is to remove it. The thought of the supple skin that lies beneath the loosely knitted wool has my mouth run dry and I have to lean my back against the wooden door to restrain myself from striding back into the room and ripping each layer of her clothing from her in my hunt for her skin.

Both palms cover my face and my fingertips press tightly into my eyes. My head leans back against the wood and I try to push the images from my mind of what I know resides on the other side of this thin door. When I have my raging hormones under enough of my control that I no longer tremble in their wake, I take my hands from my cheeks and look blanking into the tiled room. "Ammy?" I already know she's there, I can feel her just beneath my skin.

The small snort of laughter that resounds in my head leaves me with no illusion that she is surprised that I call on her. 'At the moment, your attention should not be upon me, Human.'

"I know." She's referring to Hermione. For all of our squabbles this particular act has always taken place when Ammy has not been present, I for one would like to keep it that way. However, how best to politely ask Ammy to disappear to the back of my mind as she so often does is something I am having trouble deciding upon. "I don't want you seeing this." Is the very brash response I settle on and immediately flinch at the candour of my words.

I can feel her interest is peaked; it rests as a heavy burden across my eyebrows. 'Why?' She asks simply, her voice filled with uncomplicated curiosity.

"This is…" I pause, trying to order my words in a way that might placate her. The muscles along my calf twitching and I can feel the beginnings of the temptation to begin fidgeting. "This is personal." She remains quiet but does not leave my presence, instead patently waiting for me to continue. Knowing that on this occasion I must expand further, or just allow her to reside behind my eyes as Hermione and I rediscover each other. A thought that is deeply unsettling to me. "I'll sit back, let you watch and experience so many things. But when I'm with…" What was the phrase she used, so many weeks ago when she first came to my attention? "With my mate, like this, I don't want you to be watching."

'Your interactions with this woman are of deep interest to me.' That sentence alone is enough to strike me almost mute with fear.

Through gritted teeth I reply, "That may be. But this is mine." I say with such fierce protectiveness that I didn't know I possessed, profoundly uncomfortable with not only Ammy's eyes upon the flesh of my girlfriend, but anyone else's either. "Let me keep this. Please." I need not have begged, the plea is already laced through my whispered words and I truly do not know what I might do, should she refuse.

For long moments she is quiet and the only sounds to reach my ears are the echoed sounds of my own breaths in the tiled room and Hermione's movements on the other side of this wall. 'This is important to you.' She quietly concludes and I have the distinct impression that she might just grant me this request.

"Very." I answer with all the honesty I can muster.

Making a sound deep in my mind to show she is contemplating I take a moment to run my sweaty palms over the fabric of my trousers, shakily awaiting her decision. 'I will grant you this boon.' I feel myself almost laugh in relief and release the breath that had been burning in my lungs. 'But I will expect you to grant one for me.'

I admit that I do not like the vagueness of that statement but at this point I think I might grant her almost anything so I might keep my bedroom activates as private as they should be. No easy task when a second entity exists with your mind and body. "As long as it is within my power."

'Those terms are acceptable.' I cannot help but think the relationship between Ammy and myself is based on nothing but tactics of negotiation. 'Enjoy your evening Human, farewell.' Unlike all previous times when I have chased her deep into the darkness of my mind she leaves slowly. The loneliness I feel at her departure in no way as intense as I remember it being when she has left me with anger in her voice. Leavening me with the resounding promise that she will return, the oddest thing is that I find myself joyous for it.

After flushing the toilet to keep up the pretence I step back into Hermione's sleeping chamber, only to find the woman in question already beneath the thick covers. Looking altogether too comfortable, with her hands crossed underneath her head, a smile playing across her face as she looks at me. I tilt my head to the side, taking in the bare expanse of skin along her arms and the rest of her body hidden from my view beneath the quilt, pulled tightly under her chin. Narrowing my eyes I comment. "Are you naked under there?" I ask her, only slightly disappointed that I will be deprived the opportunity to disrobe her.

The look that pulls across her face can only be described as tantalising. "That is something you'll just have to find out."

It's as good as an admission and immediately my hands are at my belt buckle, dexterous fingers pulling on the strip of leather until I have it lose and hanging from my hips as I stride over to the bed. I undo the topmost buttons on by navy shirt and cross my arms at the hem to pull it over my head in a single motion. I toe at the backs of each of my shoes, reaching down to tuck them away next the Hermione's bedside table. Knowing that if she trips over them later in the night I will never hear the end of it.

Although I am certain that I am able to accomplish the task by touch alone but still I look down the length of my body to undo the button for my trousers and lower the fly. The black fabric pools at my feet and I step out of it, bravely leavening them where they fall. I turn to take a seat at the side of the bed to remove my socks and push them into my discarded shoes. I contemplate leaving my underwear on my skin but only for a moment, slipping out of them only moments before I am lifting the covers and sliding into the bed, the warm flesh that glides along my skin enough commend me for my decision.

I hear a sigh pass between Hermione lips as our bodies meet after such a stretch of time apart. My arm coast over her hip to pull her comfortably to me and the wiry stands of hair that pass over my thigh is enough to tell me exactly how bare she is, even though it is still hidden from my prying eyes.

Her warm caress touches my face, glides across my ear to push between the strands of my short hair, brunching into a loose fist and pulling me forwards. Her lips greet me and I lean much of my weight over her prone body, hips already undulating with each passing breath. My lips leave hers only moments after our tongues once more become reacquainted. Needing to tastes her flesh, have the suppleness against my teeth and lips. I follow the line of her jaw, feeling her turn her head so I have enough room to press further against her. My teeth touch the flesh just below her ear, the shudder it provokes I both hear in her breathing and feel under my splayed fingers across her stomach.

She shifts her weight further under my hand I am forced to push my upper body further aloft and onto my bent arm. Her hands travel the length of my spine and her nails pass on the return journey south, causing my entire body to quake with repressed desire.

My open mouthed kissed drop into her collar bone as the muscles in my arms clench to trail my hand along her skin, further up her body until I have the weight of her breast held in its loose grasp. The moment the creases in my palm pass over the erect point her hips surge forward. Her need for quick release apparently mirroring my own I have no mind to tease. Instead altering the path of my fingers to run through wiry hair between her legs. Pressing down on the moist bundle of nerves I find. Her cry of passion is deeply arousing, only matched by the ragged breaths passing over my ear.

Moving the tips of my fingers in quick tiny circles around the bud under their touch, relishing the sounds of her pleasure echoing close to the shell of my ear with every pass. They only cease when she presses her teeth against the lobe and I lose all cognitive thought, stilling my movement in favour of feeling the tremors wrack though my body. I come to my senses only as I feel her palm pushing against my lower abdomen and forcing me up onto my knees. Her nimble fingers press deeply into me the moment I grant her access to my need.

Straightening my arm I drop the focus of my touch lower between her thighs, feeling her skin brush the back of my hand and she bends her knee to press her foot flat against the mattress. I press two fingers deep into her, feeling her go completely still for a moment, only halting the gentle pressure when my knuckles presses against the throbbing heat.

As I pull them back slowly she begins to gain more control of her body, the gentle thrusting between my legs resuming at a much faster pace than I had set. Fingers thread into my hair along the back of my neck and tug, pulling me forwards until our breaths mingle between parched lips. Her teeth press against my bottom lip to show me her desperation and I speed up my ministrations to match the speeding tempo of hers.

While I press down into her welcomed touch with an almost bruising force I can feel the muscles along her bent leg ripple and her hips rise to meet every thrust of my wrist. I tuck in my thumb to press against the bundle of nerves I have been neglecting and feel the tips of her fingers curl inside of me in response.

Out lips meet again and again in a disorganised fashion, both of us craving the intimate contact until the moment my body goes completely ridged. A flash of cold settling along my spine for only a split second before heat bursts out from deep within my belly, blinding lights flashing behind my eyes and blood rushing past my ears in a whirlwind of noise.

With a shuddery breath I slump forward my body going boneless. My forehead striking the pillow under Hermione's head and only just able to catch myself on my supporting arm before I crush her beneath my weight and I can feel her stomach shaking with impending climax. She is unprepared for the twist of my wrist to change the angle of my digits inside of her. Her clutching fingers curling around my shoulder blade is testament to that.

I notice her fingers leave my body and press against the knot of nerves as they leave, igniting a further fire in my belly that throw my thrusts into a frantic rhythm, pressing my thumb against her in a manner I know will drive her to the brink of madness. Its seconds before her leg is curling around my hip, her nails digging into my back and her inner muscles clutching at my intruding digits. She presses tightly against me for several long seconds, her breath held back by the force of her pleasure before she drops unceremoniously to the mattress. Limp, sweating and smiling.

Without any care for grace I slump into my shoulder settling on my side and waiting for the aftershocks to pass through her body so I can remove my fingers without causing discomfort. Only when I see her fingers grace her forehead do I remove the intrusion and rest my damp appendage against her abdomen, feeling it shudder under my touch with each breath she takes.

My gaze shoots up to her face when I hear her start to chuckle. Her eyes are closed and her upper lip is pulled high to show her amusement. Many times I have had this reaction from her after a passionate meeting of flesh and I have never understood it. With a boldness I didn't know I possessed I manage to speak around my uneven breaths. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing." She replies breathlessly dropping her arm to her side on the mattress and turning her head towards me to meet my gaze. "I'm just happy."

"Happy?" The question leaves my lips without thought and I roll the word around in my mind. Trying to clinically dissect it, examine it so I might better comprehend.

She watches me for a moment, her eyes darting back and forth. After several long moments of silence she turns on the spot, pressing her knee against mine in an indication for me to lift it so she is between them and able to entangle our limbs. Her fingers pass across my temple, gently coaxing me from the deep contemplation. "Aren't you happy?" She asks and I know that the question is born from her insecurities when she moves her gaze away from my eyes.

I find myself struck dumb, not knowing how to answer her honestly. Of course I know the meaning of the word but the actual feeling. That's something entirely different. It is not something that has ever been fully explained to me, nor even inferred in any way. I know I am content in this moment, having her close, having the safety of a home to go back to. My worries and fears will return, of that I have no doubt, but right at this moment I could wish for nothing more. "I think so." I call out into the heavy silence that has shrouded us.

Her hand dips lower and covers my cheek, her thumb stoking the skin she finds there. Wearing that smile that I have seen a hundred times, the sadness in her eyes a direct contrast to the curve of her lips. Yet another gesture I don't quite understand but this one I do not query. Terrified on some deep level of the answer. She blinks and a single tear runs over the bridge of her nose, her jaw quivering as the smile fades. She wets her lips and casts her gaze down between our bodies, gathering courage beneath her breast. I hear her sniff back her sorrow before meeting my eyes. "What happened to you?"

My heart stops dead in my chest and for the first time I truly wish to answer her.


	31. Chapter 31: Tumble and Fall

Chapter 31

Every iota of tension Hermione has so efficiently removed from my body only moments ago springs back into place all along my spine. Eyes close to block out the world and calm the churning in the pit my stomach. The hand at her hip tightening around bone with such ferocity that only the thought of marking her with it forces me onto my back. The warm touch against my cheek relaxes but never leaves my skin; traversing down my throat and feeling me swallow back my own nerves.

I can both feel and smell her tension as she restrains herself from pulling herself closer. It enters my mind that she doesn't want to be the reason I flinch, holding herself perfectly still so I don't retreat across the room or worse further behind the cerebral barriers I have been building since birth. She's told me all this, freely when I have asked and I know that my actions are causing her pain but I can't stop them. Shakily I take a breath, no idea where to even begin, let alone put voice to it.

Her hands slide from my body without argument as I pull myself upright and perch on the edge of the bed, the chill striking at my damp and uncovered back. I feel my muscles begin to shiver but cannot feel the cold that provokes it.

I feel too vulnerable like this, exposed and naked in every sense of the words. So slowly I stand, my mind a buzz of thoughts and emotions but my body, expressionless. Careful and calculated with every movement, simply because this is how it must be, this is how I react to everything I fear. Once the initial panic has subsided, calm must prevail.

The stinging scent of salt invades my nostrils. The small part of my brain that remains completely unaffected and thoroughly observant notes that while she weeps she does so quietly and it envies her for that skill. Every other inch of me burns with shame and guilt, knowing that every tear staining her cheeks I was able to prevent but my own incompetence, my secretiveness would not be silenced. The stillness stretches, hanging so heavily in the air you could slice it with a blade and I know I must be the one to do so.

I tug at the wooden draw filled with my clothing and possessions. Cautious to remove only sleeping attire so she cannot misinterpret and assume I will leave her for voicing such a simple question. Methodically I dress, pulling the chair tucked neatly under her desk out and turn it to face her. Trying to build on something that might someday resemble courage even though I know without a shadow of doubt that when it comes to something like this, I'm nothing more than a snivelling coward.

My fingers are shaking when I look down on them, quaking in fear and I take one in the other, my grip burning to try and halt the movement. "Where do I start?" I ask, listening to her sob cut short as she tries desperately to hide it from me. I can't bring myself to lift my gaze from my hand, held in such a tight grip my fingers are beginning to turn red.

The mattress shifts and so do the covers, it only takes a glance upwards to see that she has pulled the quilt around her as she sits on the edge of the bed, the corner of the fabric furiously running over her eyes to conceal her tears. "You can start anywhere you like." Her voice is pitched to a low whisper in a feeble attempt to cover the tremble in her words.

That is a little open ended, I had prayed and hoped for some sort of direction but with such precious little information available to her, it is little wonder that she's cannot be more specific. There are certain things that I simply must divulge. Things where there is little sense in keeping from her and by doing so I am only hurting her in the process. Such as the development of Ammy inside my head, the wolf living in my skin very nearly made flesh in the light of day. Yet I sense this is not what she's asking me, this is more to do with experiences that have shaped my mentality. Why I am who I am and there is quite simply no easy answer to that.

Her eyes are on me, intense and inquisitive but still I keep my gaze on the rug at my feet, my toes pushed between the thick threads. Forcing my hands to separate so I no longer constrict the flow of blood I bring my palms together, both thumbs touching the tip of my chin and my lips pressing against the side of my knuckles. Deeply contemplative, unsure of where to begin, where to end and how much should be said in between.

"I'm not like normal people. I was never meant to be, that wasn't the point." Dropping my hands to the arms of the chair I push myself deeper into the seat, straightening my back and hearing the detachment in my voice. Distancing myself from the words even as the pain beings to swell in my chest shakes me right down to the very core as I try to put my memories into words in some coherent way. "I was to be extraordinary. We all were. We were his legacy."

"His?" Hermione asks in a small voice, almost afraid to interrupt me.

"My father." I answer, estranging myself further as I think on the man. "He painted the lives of his children long before any of us were born. Though having a daughter was never part of the plan." At this I do bring my eyes up to her, some perverse need to see her reaction. The clench of her jaw is enough for me to see she is holding her tongue. "Still, being the second child it didn't matter that much, he had his heir I was just the weapon."

Across the room Hermione shifts, pulling the cover tighter around her shoulders. "You shouldn't think like that. You're not just a tool to be used."

"Why not? You use me."

She physically flinches at this, indignation flying across her face and a fire of fury lights behind her deep brown eyes. "That's not true."

"I was recruited into Dumbledore's Army so I could teach you combative magic." Words become lodged in the back of her throat the infallible logic she is unable to counteract but I suspect she is most uncomfortable with the manner in which I drew her attention to it. I hold my hand up in order to gather her attention and halt her useless spluttering. "I'm not questioning your motives, simply drawing a parallel."

"I…" She starts only to cut herself off. "Jamie. You think I'm using you."

"You are." I try to implore. I don't wish to cause her pain and I know this conversation is doing just that but how else can I make her understand? "Boiled down to the barest sense of the word, you are. You have to be, because everybody else is, every second of every day. Every selfless act has a selfish motive. Some are just more obvious than others." She still doesn't understand, more shocked with my view on how people treat each other to step back and see the bigger picture. "Every parent raises a child for their own benefit, if only so they can be looked after in their twilight years. My father was simply more, short sighted about it. He knew exactly what he wanted from us and how to get it."

"You almost sound like you're defending him." She says her, voice snide as her face screws up in a frown of distaste. This is the first time I have spoken of the man and already I can tell she doesn't like him.

"I suppose I am." I say trying to keep my voice level; I can feel all those emotions that I had kept locked away under my skin beginning to seep through into my voice and body language. Starting to become affected by my own retelling of my childhood. "He knew exactly what he wanted from us and he gave us all the tools to accomplish it. He tried to craft perfection from mediocrity, in the only way he knew how. His motives and his methods would have been perfect if we'd been special. Had some innate ability to perform all the tricks he required of us on the first try, but we weren't. We were just children, I know that now. But at the time it felt like I was at fault, that I wasn't good enough and I was punished for it. Countless times." Somehow, thinking about all of that pain puts the distance back in my voice. Looking to almost all the world that I could be recounting a fond memory, or even reading a passage from a book that I hold little emotional interest in. It helps, being able to shield myself from it, even if only partly.

Hermione however has the opposite reaction, far from unaffected. The edges of her eyes bloodshot and shining with yet more unshed tears. Somehow able to see right through the façade I show her with such minimal effort that it might as well have been a pane of glass.

"I'm upsetting you." I say with such cold clarity I might as well have been commenting on the weather.

She sniffs in response running the back of her hand along her cheek and under her nose. "The thought of you in pain for no good reason. Of course that upsets me." Silently I wait, for either her to calm herself or ask me to continue. "What did he do to you?"

For the first time I turn my head away from her, finding the grain of the desk the most interesting thing in the room all of a sudden. "Withheld luxuries mostly." I would not go as far as to say I am lying to her, just playing down the extent of that particular pain.

My eyes close in defeat at her next statement. "You call food a luxury?" I had been foolish to think that she might not bring that up.

I meet and hold her gaze. "It was to me." My voice has taken a much lower pitch, the hurt bleeding through into my physiology. "Along with sleep, sunlight, freedom of movement, human interaction…"

She cuts me off holding her hand out palm facing me with a sharp cry of "Stop." Her whole body is trembling to such an extent that I am certain she is going topple off the side of her bed at any moment. "Just stop." The tone of her voice is enough for me to know I've pushed this conversation too far too fast and dropping my armour of impassiveness I stand from the chair. In two long strides I have reached her perch and folded my arms around her. Letting her press her nose into my neck and clutch at my lose clothing. "I'm sorry." She whispers against my skin and I run my hand over her thick bushy mane, in an attempt to calm her.

"It's okay." I breathe back in as low a volume as her.

"No it's not." Her hand still tightly clenched in the material covering my chest she pulls back to turn those tear filled eyes back in my direction. "You're the one that has been through all these things. Somehow I'm the one that ended up crying." She inhales, shaky and deep. Holding the air in her lungs and calming herself. "He deprived you of sleep?" She finally asks, not letting go of my clothing, not giving me the opportunity to escape.

I nod pulling her closer, knowing that having her within my gasp and still being able to see her sad eyes might just be my undoing and I might dissolve into tears for the first time in as long as I can remember. "He would instruct the house elves to wake me once every half an hour, it would have been easier to have not slept at all but confided to my room without light I had little else to do."

"Why?" She whispers, her cheek nuzzling against my chest in an action I am certain was intended to comfort me as much as her. "Why would he do that to you?"

"It was always when something has slipped my mind. Making the task of remembering harder, it would continue until I remembered everything he desired me to." I have to suppress a shudder at the memory. After only a few days without sufficient sleep the hallucinations can be terrifying, far outweighing the feeling of exhaustion.

She curls herself in a tighter ball against my side, hiding from my words and I know I should stop but with a few simple words she asks me to continue. "That's barbaric."

"Agreed," I say slowly, wondering if I should finish that sentence. Just let her into my way of thinking, if only a fraction. "You can't deny its effectiveness, though."

I only truly realise that I was pushing too far when she pushes against me, her grip loosening from the fabric of my cloths as she rears back with such ferocity that I could almost think I had struck her. Horror is the only emotion behind her eyes as she looks upon me. As if for the first time seeing me, seeing what I am, what I could become. "You'd condone this."

"My memory could contend with even yours." I can't understand what is wrong with me, the dam now broken on my silence and truths spill forth from between my lips without care for the repercussions. It's not only out of character for me but also complete stupidity. A pointless discussion that will only leave us both burning in pain and I could prevent it if only I could force my teeth to close. "In this case I think the outcome far exceeds the risks."

"No." she stands, pulling the covers with her and they drag along the floor behind her. I notice she is careful to keep it covering her flesh, placing a physical barrier between herself and what she is coming to realise might be more horrific than she could ever have guessed. "Nothing is worth that sort of abuse."

"Even survival?" I counter, watching her face turn red in frustration. "He gave me to tools to exceed and to survive."

"Like when we first met?" Horror and pain in an instant clash behind her eyes and all that is left is rage. "Daddy's little girl!"

At her words I am on my feet, so close to her our toes nearly touch. With an anger boiling under my skin, so fierce I would not be surprised to find myself steaming. "I was alive!"

"You call that living?" She practically screams so close to my face that I fear she might burst my highly sensitive eardrums. "In the constant company of someone you don't like or respect." The fire still burns behind her eyes but after her outburst she has been able to calm herself enough to lower her voice. "Forcing yourself to become involved in things that didn't interest you."

Slowly I blink, listening to my teeth grind for a moment. There is wisdom in her words; even Quidditch was not something I would have volunteered myself for had it not been for the prodding of the people around me. My subsequent enjoyment of the sport was nothing more than a happy accident.

Dropping my gaze to the floor I try and bring my wrath under control. She also pauses, giving us both a moment to try and shake off the heady emotions filling the room. "You once told me you did all of those things for your dad, to please him, to make him proud. Was it ever enough?" I can feel her eyes on me, studying me. The only answer to her question is no and I have no counter argument for it. A long sigh is enough to tell me that she has been able to correctly interpret my persistent silence.

In the quiet that follows we both take time to collect ourselves, anger depleting as quickly as it appeared. We both remain close to each other, more out of a mutual need for the comfort than the intention of intimidating each other. The edges of my newly cut hair drop down into my vision as I hang my head and I have to run my fingers through it as I lift my gaze back to Hermione. "No." I eventually whisper, bowing to her superior logic. "No, it was never enough."

Grasping the quilt in a fist over her breastplate she pulls an arm free to let the backs of her fingers trail over my bare arm. "Then why would you put yourself through that?" I feel my eyebrows raise sarcastically in question. Where else could I have gone? "I mean…" Her fingers leave my skin to push against her forehead, crinkling the skin as she puts pressure against it. "You could have told someone. A teacher, a ministry official. Anyone. Surely someone would have made it stop."

"I wanted to please him. Everything he sought after for himself I wanted to give it to him." She still doesn't comprehend me I can see it. "Look Hermione. You might be right. It may have not been a life worth living but before I met you I didn't have anything else. My father's rise to power was my only long-term goal. Apart from keeping James and my Mother safe, telling anyone what was going on wouldn't have helped that cause."

"You were protecting them?" She asks with a look on her face that tells me she had not even considered that.

"The better I was the easier it was for them. Didn't stop him trying, just once. I don't know how old I was but I was old enough to beat him back." I close my eyes against that particular memory. It was truly the only time my Father and I disagreed in such a way. The only part of his will I unwaveringly refused to bend to, was the welfare of my youngest sibling and my other parent. It takes me a moment to realize how close to weeping I am and I sniff them back turning away from Hermione and trying to put some distance between us. In this room that has suddenly become far too small for the both of us to exist within. Finding the desk I turn to lean against it, knowing that I have to keep facing her but unwilling to be within touching distance.

The air feels electric in an almost suffocating way and I can feel myself beginning to shake. From the chill in the air or touching on the one subject that I am completely powerless to distance myself from I am uncertain. I feel a genuine smile slide across my face and hope that what I wish to tell her might have her believing that the safety of my family was worth all that pain. "My Mother once said I was her Sword and Shield." I see her open her mouth and have no wish to repeat our earlier disagreement on using people. "Not in the same way. She never asked me to. But she was so fragile, so gentle." My arms across against my chest, not in any form of defence but just to feel comfortable on my perch. "I was stronger than they were. All the pains I couldn't fight back against I took in their place. I always hoped it was an adequate metaphor."

Biting on her bottom lip she nods. "It does sound like it." Her eyes burn into me, watching, waiting, for something but I don't know what. "What about now, that you're not around?"

Her words strike against my chest like a battering ram, my torso in so much pain that I would be unsurprised to look down and find my ribs caved in, heart still beating but exposed to the world. My eyes burn and my whole body shakes and for just a second I almost can't believe that she would have the audacity to cast that question to the open air. Tear apart still fresh wounds and pour salt into them until I scream myself hoarse. Like a wave in the tide, the rage washes over me, drawing back and leaving nothing but fear and guilt in its wake. One blink and something warm touches my cheek, mysterious and foreign against my skin. "I try not to think about it." Halfway through my sentence my voice breaks and quivers with some emotion that I cannot place. My stomach clenches almost painfully, pushing all breath from my body and when I inhale I feel my lungs shudder.

I bring my hand to my cheek to push away the unidentifiable liquid and when I pull my fingers back into my vision it's clear, hot and stinging against my skin. Another blink at it is immediately replaced. Why is it so hard to breathe? Why does my nose feel stuffy and clogged? What is happening to me?

I hear Hermione's stride across the rug moments before her hand closes over the back of my neck. Drawing me close and pushing my nose into the hollow between shoulder and neck, not caring for her state of undress she drops the covers from around her body, letting them pool at her feet, drawing me against her and gently whispering to me. "It's okay. It's not your fault." Something deep inside me snaps and the pain radiates out from my bones, through flesh and all across every expanse of skin.

Suddenly I'm clinging to her, as if my very existence depended on it. My fingers pressing into her skin to keep her close, keep her holding me. A tremor runs its way from the pit of my belly, along my spine and through my shoulders. Exiting my mouth in a mournful sob that punctures the air and it takes me a moment to release it for what it is.

I weep, deep into her shoulder for what feels like hours. Clutching at her, holding on tightly when she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, terrified she might leave me alone in my sorrow. Leave me in solitude with my eyes literally aflame in protest against the tears I cannot hold back. Not when they are encouraged by the gentle shushing noises and words of comforting nonsense that the woman I cling to so desperately is uttering.

When I decent into a shuddering mess, with no more tears to shed she coaxes me across to the bed, with tender touches and words. Untangling herself from me, only long enough to push me on top of the mattress and retrieve the cover. She throws it over my body then lifts one edge to slide in next to me, immediately wrapping an arm around my head to pull my cheek against her breastbone. She makes no comment as my fingers press once more into her skin, clutching at her and keeping her close to my shaking body. Her fingers run soothingly though my short hair and she continues to utter words I cannot decipher over the roaring of blood in my ears and my own sniffling.

I push my palm against my cheek, ridding myself of the evidence of my own weakness. Thankful that I became so completely undone in the presence of, who is quite possibly, the most compassionate person I have the privilege of knowing. I have no fears that she would take this collapse as a sign that I was feeble and helpless. No thought that she might use it against me somehow. Just hold me, guide me though the totally alien feeling of crumpling under the pressures created by my own emotions.

After coughing violently I swallow down the lump in my throat, and try to sniff back the last remaining verification of my breakdown. "I'm sorry." I say. My voice hoarse from the gut wrenching sobs I have just recently recovered from.

She presses her lips against my hair, tightening her grip on me, keeping me safe in the comfortable walls of her embrace. "It's okay. You are allowed to cry sometimes."

Through my sorrow I begin to laugh, her words so mundane but completely absurd at the same time. Only mere months ago such a colossal loss in my self-control would have earned me a thrashing that would have stung for weeks, now it is condoned, the pain soothed away by her placid touch and kind words. "You knew I was going to do that." I accuse lightly, remembering her gaze upon me.

"I was hoping you would." She runs her fingers through my hair, her short nails lethargically grazing my scalp to gather the stands and slowly drop them back to my crown. Only to repeat the action moments later. "You were just so detached from everything. I should have known it would be someone else's pain that really hurt you."

"Trust me Hermione. I'm not that caring." I say with another sniff, closing my eyes and letting her soothing touch wash over me.

"Yes you are." She says, her voice is light but still does not leave me with any room to argue the point. "You don't love many but when you do, it's so fierce." My breathing begins to shudder again and I am frightened that if I say anything I might dissolve into tears once more. So instead I press my lips against her breastbone in thanks for the compliment. "Is there anything you can do to help them?" She asks after many long moments of silence.

I shake my head against her, swallowing the lump in my throat, hoping that I might be able to dislodge it indefinably but the moment it is cleared it begins to form anew. "Best thing I can do is nothing." I can taste her curiosity over my statement. "No one would believe a half breed over an upstanding ministry official. Even if they did they would only make enquiries, which would come back with nothing. It would only anger him and make it worse."

Her grip around me tightens and I can feel the muscles in her stomach clench. "Is there anything I can do to help?" There is strain in her voice but she is trying to keep it light.

I snort with humourless laughter. "If there's anything anyone can do I haven't thought of it yet."

Her lips press against my head in a comforting caress. "You will."

Her statement is said with such certainty that I press against the mattress on either side of her, holding my torso above her so I can look into her eyes to see any sort of doubt. I find none and it perplexes me. "You have such faith in me." She nods slowly, reaching up to wipe her thumb against my cheek where the tears are starting to dry and matt with my skin. "Why?" I ask.

"Because I know you." She says simply, only continuing when she sees my forehead crease. "I know you would do almost anything to get what you want. If you want to protect them you will."

I shake my head, wondering if she even remembers what we had so recently been speaking about. "You don't know me that well."

"You hide things from me." She shifts on the mattress, turning ever so slightly so her back is flat against it. "But it's all just details, bits and pieces. Over the past months I've spend almost twenty-four hours a day with you. There's no way you could hide all of yourself in that time." I feel a serious look cross my face, too exhausted to pull my mask over it before it is visible, she's sees it cross my eyes. "What is it?"

"There's something I've been keeping from you." Now that got her attention, her eyes snap into focus and her head tilts ever so slightly to the side. "It's important, and I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry."

"What is it?" She asks so full of compassion that I cannot believe that I had the gall to keep this to myself for so long.

Letting my tongue pass between my lips to moisten them I start. "Do you remember when we called forth our Patronus?"

She nods enthusiastically, and I can see her looking on her memory behind her mind's eye. "When your senses went berserk?"

"Yeah." I whisper, pushing myself back and up onto my knees. Not completely certain what reaction this nugget of information might incite. "I walked away with more than just acute senses." She pushes herself up onto her elbows clearly interested. "The wolf inside of me started speaking to me."

Her eyes go as round and wide as saucers. "What?" Silently I wait for the shock to subside and for something to happen. I'm not certain how she is going to react and it is a deeply unsettling feeling to have not thought this out to the fullest before committing to it. "You're sure? That it's your wolf?"

Solemnly I nod. "Dale's wife had a test. I'm not insane." My voice takes on a highly defensive edge and I have to restrain myself from correcting myself.

"Is that what's been worrying you these past weeks?" She asks, her eyes wondering across my face. I had not even been aware that she had noticed. All too quickly her earlier comment about how well she knows me rings true and all that is left to do is thank all the Gods that I might not have to endure a conversation like this one again. "That you were going mad?"

I nod at her. "Mostly." All in all I don't see how that could be seen as a trivial concern.

Slowly she smiles, shaking her head at me in that way she does when I have done something exasperating. "Oh Jamie." She need not have called my name; she already holds all of my attention. She reaches out and hooks her hand around the back of my neck. "Come here."

With a gentle tug she pulls me back across her and seeks out my lips with hers, pushing them together in a comforting embrace. Wordlessly reassuring me that all that she has learned of me this night has not tarnished the relationship between us.


	32. Chapter 32: The Spaces Inbetween

Chapter 32

The flickering light of the candle, burned low from so long alit, and the scratch of my quill upon parchment is my only company. Lost in my own little world as I put the events of yesterday to the page of my journal. Never halting, never wavering. Just pouring all my thoughts and feelings out onto the blank expanses of paper.

I woke this morning to the sense of the sunrise, curling around Hermione's warmth and unwilling to leave the sanctity of her bed to watch it from the window. Content just to feel its inevitable climb along the eastern sky and listen to the even breaths of the one woman that I have given insight into the very heart of my being. Feeling almost weightless right down to the very core of me and closer than I could have ever imagined to another human being.

Something squirms around behind my eyes and my hand goes still above the paper midway through scribing a word. My first instinct is to ignore Ammy's sudden presence. Cast it from my mind and just continue with my work. Today is different, somehow. The bright morning light bathing over the earth; radiating warmth and cleansing, even my tarnished soul.

Instead I take a breath, wondering if I have made the right decision and after dipping my quill deep into the well of ink I begin to speak. "You were gone longer than usual." The stem of the feather taps lightly against the glass to dispel any excess fluid and I return my eyes to my journal.

I feel a slither of curiosity consume me and know the emotion to be Ammy's. My words have surprised her and for a moment she is struck dumb in their wake. 'You requested privacy.' Her voice is slow, sounding almost unsure of herself. 'I granted that request.'

The smile across my face is so bright it shows the white of my teeth and the small snigger deep in my chest, feels too good to try and suppress. "Not even I have that much stamina." She assumes I could withstand a full night and morning of carnal knowledge. The thought itself does sound appealing on paper but I would not wish to feel the weariness and the ache in my muscles after so much exertion.

'I had no way of being certain of that.' The sound of her voice gives the impression that she is trying to chastise me but the tremor of a giggle betrays her amusement.

The sensation of being prodded and poked covers my entire back. I physically flinch my shoulder against it. "Stop doing that." I try to command, wondering what she is trying to achieve.

She completely ignores me and the feeling continues. 'You feel lighter Human.' She comments as though I had not spoken at all.

Muscles twitch and spasm all through my shoulder blade at her intrusive curiosity. "You were only gone a night. I can't have lost that much weight."

'Your exterior matters little to me.' She comments, her invasive hunt thorough my body stops almost as abruptly as it started. 'But within, you feel better, lighter.'

The scratching of my quill halts again, my head tilting to the side in question. Looking deeper within myself and wondering what she might be talking about, I feel much the same as I have for most of my life. My hip still twinges when pushed into a specific angle, my knuckles still crack and grind when forced into a high degree of tension. However I suspect that while I still notice these old internal injuries, it is not what she refers to. "What do you mean?" I ask, only brining my attention to my writing when I hear a single drop of ink splash against the page.

I can feel her gazing out through my eyes with intrigue as I hastily push the nib back into the ink. 'Something is different.' She stops, waiting for me to fill in the gaps for her; all I do is lean back in the chair, crossing my arms across my chest. With Rachel's guidance I may have grown leaps and bounds when it comes to hiding things. The tear filled explosion in the late hours of yesterday evening is enough to convince me of that. This does not however mean that I, by any means, am ready to stop these psychological games entirely. If she wishes for the conversation to continue in this direction she will be the one to incite it. 'Perhaps, not so different.'

I feel an eyebrow lift, how does she always turn the tables on me like that? So effortlessly and with such grace, cut me down to size without a second thought. Very few have been wise enough to do that before. I clear my throat adjusting my posture in my seat and scrabble to try and gather what remains of my decorum. "What do you mean by lighter?"

She chuckles and the sound vibrates around inside my skull for a moment. 'A dignified surrender. Will wonders never cease?'

Leaning my head back against the chair I feel the laughter as it bubbles up from the very pit of my stomach. Her voice mocks me in a way that should provoke anger, defensiveness, something that isn't delight but still that is all I feel. I run my hands up and over my face to try and subdue my mirth. It's too late; my keen ears have already heard the distinct change in Hermione's breathing to indicate she is awake. The break in tension of the liquid gathered in her eyes is enough to tell me they are open, no doubt looking on me. "Do I always take myself so seriously?" I ask Ammy, scrubbing my hands against my face. She doesn't answer but I can feel her confirmation running over my skin and my eyes roll of their own violation. "How very reassuring."

'We can but try.' She says, still mocking me with the tone of her voice. I freely admit that it is a welcome change not to take offence to it. I'm sure that in time I might become used to her dry humour.

"That makes me feel so much better." I say aloud, hoping that this might be the easiest way to introduce Hermione to this new aspect of my life. Leaning forward I push the tip of my fingers under the cover of my journal and slowly close the pages. Not bothering to charm the book to hide its contents. As of last night Hermione has been close to learning the worst of me, there is little she will find in these pages that will be any bigger of a revelation.

All form of glee leaves Ammy's voice and I can feel the seriousness running through me that she now feels. 'Your mate is awake.'

That's interesting, that I would be able to detect such a thing before she. Considering the advanced senses originate from her it is becoming apparent that she does not always give them her strictest attention. "I know." I answer. Taking a deep breath and feeling elated when I cannot smell fear in the air. "I heard." My head turns and my sights set on Hermione, laid out on her back, pushed aloft on her elbows, the strangest look on her face. Somewhere between concern, mirth, and curiosity; or somehow a mixture of all three. I feel my forehead crease in response. "This makes you uncomfortable?"

She clears the look on her face instantly and shakes her head. "No, not at all." Intently I keep my eyes on her, my Hermione may be very good at many things but lying isn't one of them. "Well…" She lowers her eyes to the bedspread. "It is a little strange to witness."

I feel much of my body deflate, just because she is aware of the reason I appear to be chatting away to myself it doesn't make the action appear any saner.

'You have spoken of me.' The shock in Ammy's tone is hard to miss and it makes me what to childishly chalk that up to a win. 'That is indeed an interesting development.'

I can feel that she wishes to discuss it further, whether not being aware of the almost distressed look my cohabitant is wearing or simply deciding that it is not important enough to halt our conversation I cannot say, but right at this moment I need to explore the lay of the land. So as I push against my thighs to rise from the seat I whisper a quick plea of "Not right now Ammy" to the disembodied voice within my skull and hand my full concentration to Hermione. Stepping over to the bed and awkwardly standing at the side, not certain if it will detrimental or not to clamber in beside her, after what she has just been witness to.

She looks up at me, following my progress her eyes narrowed slightly in thought. "Ammy? Is that her name?"

'Will you please explain that I am called Amaterasu.' She says in irritation and I feel my eye twitch ever so slightly in response. Trying with all my might to push her back so I might be able to see exactly how much Hermione might come to fear me if I continue to behave in such a way.

Ever observant Hermione notices the tiny tick and her face clouds with intrigue. "What did she say?"

"Nothing important." I say easily, slowly lowering myself to the bed and resting my back against the headboard. "But I do have a feeling she isn't going to shut up around you any longer."

Ammy inside my head scoffs at the same time Hermione releases a giggle to the open air. The wolf within me is the first to speak. 'You beg for too much silence in your life Human.'

I feel my eyes roll, making a silent pledge that the day she uses my given name I might think about using hers. "Yes, because your incessant chatter will be the death of me."

Hermione hums in the back of her throat and I have to once more switch my point of focus. Beginning to realise that it is very difficult to have a three-way conversation when I am the only mediator. "I see you two are getting along swimmingly." She says in the most sarcastic voice she can muster, shooting me a cheeky grin as she turns onto her side. She pulls her arm out from beneath the covers and threads her fingers through mine.

"You should have seen us the last few weeks." I remark, studying her so closely I can see every muscle as they tense. She nods slowly, not committing to any sort of comment and looks intently on our entwined fingers. Her refusal to hold my gaze is both puzzling and worrying to me. "I can stop talking to her if it makes you uncomfortable."

Both Ammy and Hermione speak in unison with a resounding "No."

I can clearly understand why the beast inside of me would react this way to such a suggestion but Hermione's response has both of my eyebrows lifting in question. "It's a little…" She licks her lips and signs, clearly searching her mind for the right words. "Disconcerting. To start with." I give myself pause for this; it was never my intention to disturb her in any way. Perhaps a gentler introduction to this aspect of my existence would have been more prudent. "But she's part of you now. I'm sure I'll get used to it."

"It's not something anyone should have to get used to." I mutter, much more to myself than the other two women that are able to hear me, knowing that this kind of interaction is by no means normal. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

Sudden movement against the mattress has me releasing my grip on her hand and all at once her warm body is pressed against mine. Her knees pressed into the soft springs on either side of my hip, her arms resting over my shoulders. My hands immediately go to her hip, not only to feel the supple flesh beneath my fingers but also to keep her stable and she sits back on my thighs. Where I have been out of bed the last two hours, now bathed and dressed, the same sort of time has not been afforded to Hermione. Our heart-felt discussion last night left us both exhausted, so she still remains in nothing but her skin and it takes all my willpower to remind myself that Ammy is still very observant behind my eyes. After taking so much time and effort to ensure that she not cast a glace over her skin in the twilight hours of yesterday, I am loath to put all that to waste in the cold light of day. So I lift my gazed, falling like I have so many times before into those pools of chocolate brown.

The determination blazes like an inferno behind her eyes and I have no choice but to pay rapt attention to every word she utters. "Now you are going to listen to me and we are not going to have this conversation again. Are we clear?"

Seated over me in such a provocative manner and with such command in her voice it is unthinkable that I would have any part of my awareness on anything else in this moment. "Clear as crystal."

"Good." She speaks while narrowing her eyes; just to be sure I'm listening. "We are in a relationship, now that means that you have to live with my little quirks and I have to live with yours."

I shoot her an unscrupulous look and run my hands over her hips to rest them against the curve at the base of her back. "You have quirks?"

"Oh yes, defiantly." She says, her voice taking on an almost teasing tone.

"Really?" I ask, running the past months, through my mind and failing to find any of these idiosyncrasies she is so convinced she forces me to bear. "Such as?"

"This morning, you got up before me." I nod at her statement to the obvious. "Did you shower before or after your tided away our clothes?"

Breath gathers behind my tongue but I have no words in which to expel it, instead casting my eyes across the room, already knowing that the offending garments no longer cover the floor. "Well after. But I don't see how…"

"And why would you do that?" She asks cutting me off as though I had not continued to speak and even though it is made clear that I make to answer her question she carries on, unimpeded. "Because I'm a complete neat freak and if the room had been untidy when I woke up it would have made me cranky."

"Yes," I agree, might I add hesitantly, she may appear to be making light of this easy routine we have both fallen into but that does not necessarily indicate that I should agree wholeheartedly with her. "But I still don't see how…"

Once more she halts my speech, albeit in a much more pleasurable way as her lips cover mine and push my head back against her headboard so I have no escape from the demanding touch. Not that I could imagine a case where I would want one. She only holds my lips for a moment before drawing back. "The point is…" She starts and answers my smile with her own, once more perceiving what I was about to say before I was able to put voice to them. "You've already learned to live with that. I can live with you talking to this Ammy."

"That doesn't even compare." I utter, hoping she might either agree or counter me as I have little else to say. However on this occasion she remains uncharacteristically quiet. Even going so far as to raise both of her eyebrows in challenge. "Tidying away a small mess, that I made I might add, and listening to me talk to the voice that only I can hear are hardly the same thing."

One of her eyes squints in a show of deep comical contemplation, even though I can see she has already chosen her words. "Yes it is." Shrugging once she shifts her weight from across my lap and is on her feet before I can even form thought. "I can just pretend you're on the phone." She calls out, walking away from me towards the adjoining bathroom with and more sway to her hips than is customary. It is more than a little distracting.

The moment she disappears around the corner of the doorway my thoughts are my own again and I scrabble from the bed, having to reach down to untangle the sheets from around my bare feet. The showerhead springs to life as I reach the open doorway and rest my hand against its frame. "As easy as that?" I ask. Not quite believing my own good fortune.

I hear her push the excess water from over her face and through her hair, the abundance of liquid hits the base of the copper tub disrupting the steady beat of droplets for only a moment. "As easy as that, Sweetheart." She confirms.

"Sometimes My Love, I think you are far more forgiving than I deserve." She makes a garbled noise of agreement from the other side of the shower curtain. A thought strikes me as I turn to leave the tiled room and my curiosity forces me to spin once more, calling out. "Hermione." At her noise to indicate she is paying me at least some degree of attention I continue. "What is a phone?"

My only response is a bark of laughter, moments before a wet flannel cloth is hurled in the vague direction of my face.

~~000~~

The Great Hall is alive with activity when we arrive and after so many days of eating my meals in relative quite I feel myself wince against the noise as we approach. Only my determination to once more desensitise myself to the din, which must come with school life, convinced Hermione that I would not have a problem taking the meal with the rest of the student body.

The headache started almost immediately but I manage to make it to my seat without any indication of an impending seizure. So I remain in the hall, even when the look that crosses Ginny's face makes me literally want to run and hide under my bed. "Well look at you two." She shouts over the din as we both draw near hand in hand. "You're practically glowing." Her voice is so loud in fact that many of those around her, who were only moments ago completely fixated on their morning meal, take the time to look us over.

Hoping that my embarrassment does not show on my face I try to appear unaffected. "Thank you for that assessment Ginny." Halting my steps I customarily wait for Hermione to sit before me. "Although, a few decibels higher and they might just have heard you at the staff table."

She leans back in her seat wagging her index finger in my direction once, in an exaggerated manner. "I will be sure to remember that."

"Must you?" I take my seat at the table and immediately realise my mistake in coming to the Great Hall. All along the table bacon sizzles and eggs steam making my mouth water. The longing to quench my thrust for protein that I admit was part of my day-to-day life when I was completely human but has intensified since I took on the form of the wolf. This is going to become a very difficult festival from now on.

Ginny ignores my reprisal, pushing her fork under a heap of scrubbed eggs, drawing my jealous eyes to the food. "You two have any plans for today?" Her head ducks down to fill her mouth with the rich substance and I have to shake my head to dispel the effects.

"Not as far as I know." Hermione answers for the both of us, pushing a plate close to my nose. "Bacon?" She queries.

Resting my elbow on the tabletop I curl my fingers and rest my lips against it, not even trusting myself to touch the plate presented to me. "No. Thank you." I answer and try not to notice when her eyes narrow at me.

"You are going to eat breakfast." To the world around us her tone may have been misinterpreted as a question, but to my ears I hear it as the command that she had intended.

"Yes," I quickly agree, feeling the ache of hunger deep in my belly but still not prepared to satisfy it. "I'm just working my way up to it."

She shoots me a confused look before turning that same expression over the table to Ginny; receiving nothing more than a perplexed shrug in return.

Both Harry and Ron begin to approach our seats. Ron looking across at his friend with a worried expression and Harry with his first two fingers of his right hand pressed against the jagged outline of the scar at his forehead. The deep lines, casting shadows under his eyes belay his exhaustion and when he reaches the table he all but falls into his seat. "Morning." He says reaching over the table to pour himself some pumpkin juice.

Hermione looks up, offering the plate of bacon to her tiered friend also letting concern cast across her features. "Bad dreams, again?"

He only nods around a yawn and I can see that we will not be getting any sort of conversation out of him for the next few hours. I watch as Hermione and Ron share a meaningful look across the table and instantly know that I am being left out of the loop with regards to theses dreams, which appear to be very significant.

I shake my head at the antics, reaching out for a pitcher of water and pouring it into my goblet. It was nigh on impossible for me to trespass on the secrets between these three when I wished to stop them defeating the Dark Lord. Nowadays I almost think I might be safer being left in the dark on such matters.

Cold silence casts over all of us in a suffocating blanket of awkwardness. The golden trio looking down at their barely touched meals and pushing it around their plates with various utensils. Ginny trying not to be the first to break the quiet of contemplation, squirming around in her seat, not looking as though it is an easy task.

Personally I have no way of occupying my hands if I delay my breakfast any further, so more out of a wish to try and extract myself from the uncomfortable air than a genuine need to eat I reach into my robes and pull a spherical fruit from within my concealed inside pocket. Resting the pomegranate lightly on my plate and glaring at it so intently it might as well be a foe on the battlefield.

"What the hell is that?" For all her effort Ginny is the first to break the silence and I almost wish I hadn't given her something to comment on.

"Fruit." I answer not looking up because I know Ginny must be wearing some expression of mischief and I have no wish to see it just yet. Taking up a knife I slice the offending food down the middle and place both half's flat side down against the plate.

Ginny's fork enters my view, fully laden with the protein that I desire and forces me to look her in the eye so I no longer have to face the temptation directly. "That's your breakfast?"

"Yes." I answer shortly, does she have to draw attention to it? The back of my spoon hit the curve of the Pomegranate to dispel the seeds inside. "Breakfast, lunch, and dinner." I say with little enthusiasm.

"Wow." Ginny starts and already I can see the jokes at my expense beginning to build behind her eyes. "You sound so happy about that."

The look on my face must show how much this topic irritates me because it only makes her smile wider. "It's spring. I'm fasting." The skin peals away and I am left with the bright red fruit falling down onto the ceramic plate. Sometimes I really hate this time of year.

Ron is the next to interject, the situation that must on a lot of levels be very strange to him pulling him out of his concern for his best friend. "And I thought Lent was bad." His eyes snap up from my plate to my eyes. "So you have to eat nothing but that for forty days?"

For once my shock does not come at a time when I am taking a drink so, at least on this occasion I am not forced to entertain my friends with my enviable drowning in a small goblet. "Forty. By the Gods no." The very notion of that leaves me in fear for the safety of everyone around me. "Three days, no more."

Hermione has taken to leaning her head against her hand, supported by her elbow on the table and with a quietly spoken query has my attention. "There's a story behind that, isn't there?"

"We do many irrational things for faith, but there is always a story to accompany the madness." I say, repeating an old mantra from my childhood. So many times I would ask why it was required of me to only consume this fruit when spring came along. This was always my mother's answer.

'As it should be.' Ammy's voice rings through my head and my forehead creases and I feel my eyes waver from Hermione's face to listen to her. What care would the wolf inside me have for Gods and Myth? It is intriguing but unfortunately I will need to wait until a later time to press her further.

When my eyes return back to Hermione she is wearing a smile that clearly indicates she knew exactly where my lapse in attention had been and in an atypical show of shyness I duck my head to escape her questioning gaze. It is only after I have taken the first spoonful of my breakfast that I feel her hand squeezing my thigh. "Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?"

"I'm hardly an effective storyteller." I say, knowing that it will bore many at the table.

Her fingers press against my flesh in an imploring gesture. "I'm interested."

"Very well." I say clearing my throat and taking another bite, able to lose myself in the tale and almost fail to remember to taste in my mouth. "Persephone is the daughter Demeter, you might refer to her as Mother Nature. Persephone married the God of the Underworld and he tricked her into eating the fruit from his personal garden. She was rescued after consuming three seeds, one for every winter month. So every year she must go back to her husband's side for that time and every year on her return we celebrate."

"There's more to it than that." She says, narrowing her eyes in my direction.

"There is always more." I relent, hoping that someone else might be the centre of attention at some time soon. "But you will need to find a far better wordsmith than I to tell it properly."

We share a smile that is only interrupted by Ginny's fork clattering to her plate, her hands held aloft, palms facing us in the universal signal of 'stop.' "Wait a just minute." She pauses only long enough to swallow what she had been chewing. "Are you trying to tell me? That because some chick god got conned by some guy hundreds of years ago, you can't eat anything but that for three days?"

When put like that it almost feels like idiocy but I find myself questioning where she might take this, so I do not jump to defend this particular festival. "In a nutshell, yes." The smile that spreads across her face can only be described as evil. "What?" I ask very, very slowly, almost scared to revel what caused that glint in her eyes.

Without a word she cuts herself another mouthful of toast and piles on as many eggs that will fit, bringing to her mouth slowly and placing it against her tongue with a noise that could quite easily be described as orgasmic. Long appreciative moans can be heard as she slowly chews and her eyes roll back in their sockets in pure pleasure. When the food has been chewed enough it is pushed into one of her cheeks so she can speak out of the side of her mouth, pointing in the vague direction of her lips. "This is so good." She pauses to swallow, without a care of the murderous look I am sending across the table. "Honestly. Eggs and toast, match made in heaven."

With a long frustrated sigh I try my hardest not to indicate just how much the exhibit has affected me, turning to my side so I no longer have to cast my eyes upon the wanton display. "My Dearest Hermione. You may have been right. We should have taken this meal in your room."

She giggles but does not comment, appearing not to want to be placed in the cross fire between the redhead, who lives for little else but to give me a hard time, and myself, hunching over her food in order not to be drawn into the pleasant squabble.

"Hey." Ginny calls, all notes of irritating enjoyment dropped from her voice. "That better not be another nickname. I already paid out for the last one."

"I fail to see how this would affect me." I say, glad that I may have stumbled on to a way to repay her constant ribbing. "Who won, anyway?"

"Luna, actually." She says, hooking her thumb over her shoulder. Which is a strange manoeuvre as the Ravenclaw table is located behind my back, not hers. She then scratches her head in apparent confusion. "I can't quite get my head around that one."

I shrug slightly, thinking that we do not give enough credit to the girl. "The wise can be found in the strangest of places."

"Yeah?" Ginny says with a disbelieving look on her face. "So can the lucky."


	33. Chapter 33: Self Control

Chapter 33

There have been very few things that I have had direct control over in my short lifetime, with another always pulling at my puppet strings. It has always been so paramount that I have something I can call my own, something I am able to wield expertly and have absolute power over. My own thoughts and body was always on hand to fill that role in its entirety. So as such I have always been able to halt a nervous twitch, grasp onto a stray thought to effectively stamp it out. It has not always been easy, to enter that state of stillness, to not only conceal my inner thoughts and emotions but also to tame them, to distance myself to such an extent that the feelings can no longer be felt, but years of practice prevailed.

On any normal day I can call upon my inner calm and quiet disorganised thought, unruffle the feathers of restlessness whenever it should descend to swallow me whole, with very little effort. Today is proving to be an exception.

Tomorrow will mark the beginning of another term at Hogwarts, a day filled with tuition and learning like any other. Only it is not, it cannot be. Schooldays are noted for the inclusion of lessons, in all of which attendance is mandatory. Even Defence Against the Dark Arts, a tutorial I am certain I could pass my exams without having to endure, especially after a battle of wills has been fought and won in my honour by the headmaster against the Professor who teaches it.

For a full hour I will be forced to remain in the presence of one Dolores Umbridge. With her sickeningly sweet laugh that could not appear any more false, even if she were to put her mind to it. With her long looks in my direction, distaste and disgust behind the thinnest of veils in her eyes. I anticipate that she will attempt to bait me, hoping to prove beyond reasonable doubt that it would be unsafe to release me again into society. Obtain a second ruling with regards to Dale's custody over me.

The event itself I do not fear. The calmness will return when I am most in need of it, of this I am sure. I will remain passive and submissive, true to my training. It will not take her long to become uninterested after any lack of response. No, I have assessed the inevitable meeting and thought of it from all sides, as I do in all stressful situations. Her looks and sneers do not frighten me, as they should, as they are intended. My mental preparation will see to that.

However therein lies the problem; the puzzle has been solved. The groundwork has been laid and I have already decided how I will react to her. Now I must wait, festering in my own anticipation. Time is a fickle mistress and I wish for nothing more than for her to bring the moment upon me, here and now. Just to be done with it so I may once more blend with the shadows and go unnoticed in her tuition. Not held in a perpetual state of edginess with nothing more to fill my head with, than the scenarios I have already pored over for hours upon end.

The quiet of the library is little help, all of my homework assignments were completed over the holidays, aided by my state of alertness from the moment the sun shines its first rays over the horizon. I lost interest long ago in the book held open to my eyes, the words no longer having meaning and I have sat for longer than I dare think about, staring uselessly at the page, wringing my hands together.

"Are you okay?" Ginny's eyes hold concern as my gaze shoots up to meet hers. Her red eyebrows held high on her forehead in question.

"No." I answer shortly. There is little point in spinning any sort of tale to encourage her away from the subject; I know my behaviour clearly reveals my anxiety. Both of my hands rake through my hair, my nails pressing against the skin along my scalp, the movement dislodges the knot in my chest for only a moment before it returns. "I'm restless." I continue. Standing from my seat and taking the open book with me, returning it to the shelf more out of a need for some form of physical exertion, than wishing to tidy it away.

As I turn back towards the table both Ginny and Hermione share a silent exchange, they both hold questions in their eyes but no answers. Something I have come to associate with, what they perceive to be my strange decorum. I do for a moment contemplate returning with another book; in the hope it might hold my interest enough for me to let the looming conflict with The High Inquisitor slip to the back of my mind.

However, just thinking about having to remain still and quiet for another moment, makes me want to rip my own hair out as an alternative. With that thought in mind I return, empty handed, bending at the hip to lean heavily on the table. Lowering my voice to little more than a whisper so I do not incur the short temper of Madame Pince. "Let's go for a walk." I suggest, my chest singing in anticipation of being in the open air, Ammy in the back of my mind humming her approval.

For some odd reason they both look shocked at this. Hermione's forehead creasing in the middle and her hand falling away from the passage she had been reading. Ginny's reaction is a little less subdued. Her jaw hanging so far off its hinges that it brushes the tabletop.

Surprisingly, considering the strength of her reaction, Ginny is the first to recover, leaning low over the table and whispering. "What? All of us?" Suddenly she jerks to the side, glaring in Hermione's direction with her bright eyebrows hooded heavily over her eyes. Her quick shout of "Ow!" is enough to let me know that Hermione has caused her some sort of injury beneath the table, as well as catching the attention of the resident librarian.

All three of us duck our heads in apology after a loud bout of shushing from the old, frail looking woman. We remain in silence for several moments before I see her eyes peer once more through her half-moon spectacles, going back to the passage she had been reading with rapt attention.

"Yes, why not?" I answer Ginny's earlier query. "There are only three of us we would still be complying with the school rules." Something I hasten to add is becoming more difficult by the day. When the ministry handed Umbridge such absolute power in that forty second decree, I am almost certain that so many additions to the regulations was not what they had in mind.

"That's not exactly what I meant," Ginny starts, only for her eyes to widen, quite significantly and shoot across in her seat, accusatory gaze casting over in Hermione's direction. "Are you going to kick me again?"

Hermione, for her part shows us the picture of innocence. It may look genuine but the sight of it makes Ginny shrink away all the more. For some unknown reason Hermione has perceived her words to have been the opposite of helpful. Hence the physical contact. What it was she has been intending to shield me from however is totally lost on me.

"What Ginny is trying to say…" Hermione begins, shooting a glance across the table at our friend, the trace of reprimand shining in her eyes. "Is that, when you take your walks you usually want to be alone."

I feel much of my forehead crease in a frown at her words. Looking into her eyes, searching for the jest that must have been so completely beyond me, finding nothing. She just continues to look upon me, waiting for something. "Do I?" I ask without thought. It is true that when I become restless I have recently taken to ambling aimlessly around the castle and its grounds but I cannot pinpoint a single instance when I had specifically requested solitude in doing so. Then again, I also cannot think of a time when I have asked for company either.

With a smile on her face she wordlessly nods. How can she have perceived so many things without my direct import, without my even noticing? "Well I suppose that was implied," I concede. Watching them share that infuriating glace across the table. "Would you rather stay here, now?"

"Oh, Hell no," Ginny says before I have even finished speaking, packing away her quills and parchment with such speed that she completely disregards the need to roll up the long scroll, instead stuffing it into her pack, pushing it into a crumpled mess under all her other supplies and books. The shoulder strap slips swiftly over her head and quicker than I could have imagined she is on her feet. "Let's go."

"Ginny," Hermione says, just loud enough to attract the eyes of Madame Pince, she notices immediately and halts her speech, shooting her silent apologies across the room. Lowering her voice significantly so Ginny has to stoop down closer to her to be able to hear. "Ginny we have to finish this." She uses the nib of her quill to indicate the unrolled parchment across the desk.

Ginny clenches her fists close to her ears in a show of frustration. "Hermione. You've already done all my homework." Now that is a surprise, I have come to understand that Hermione is hard pressed to complete the assignments for even her two best friends, even with their constant badgering. Only giving them guidance notes and correcting their mistakes once they have done it themselves. "Can we please just get out of here?"

"I know all of your assignments are done." Hermione says, struggling to keep her voice down to a low whisper from between her gritted teeth. "But you have to at least appear as if you're studying."

"Well." Ginny looks as though she is struggling to contend with the quarrel. "Can't we just do that tomorrow? Besides, Jamie's restless." She says, a smile gracing her features as she remembers exactly why they had begun to disagree in the first place. Looking like she has just stumbled onto the only indisputable argument she could bring to the table.

Hermione's quill waves about irritably for a few seconds and her mouth opens as if to form speech. To counter her in some way, but no sound is forthcoming. It is only a matter of heartbeats before she admits defeat, closing her heavy book around a sigh. "Fine." She stands to tidy away the table, not able to leave a mess in her wake. "But we finish this tomorrow." She says by way of both a compromise and a demand, a feat that I am almost certain would be impossible to anyone but Hermione.

Ginny raises a single hand, three foremost fingers outstretched. Her smallest tucked against her palm by her thumb. "Scout's honour."

"You weren't a scout," Hermione says, definitively and has to look twice at Ginny's raised hand. "And you're saluting wrong."

"I could have been a scout," Ginny says, driving her pointed index finger towards the ground in some bizarre way of exaggerating her speech with her hand movements, even thought she is unable to raise her voice. Shooting her whispered comment at Hermione's back.

I push my hands into my pockets; beginning to think it might have been quicker and easier to have gone for a stroll around the grounds by myself. "I don't even know what a scout is," I comment for the first time since the argument began.

Ginny waves her hand in a dismissive nature. "Some sort of Muggle cult."

Hermione sighs in absolute exasperation, leaning forward as she pushes the book back into its spot on the bookshelf, until her forehead touches the wooden support. "The Scouts are not a cult," she says in an almost defensive nature. She turns and quickly begins to pack away her writing supplies from the table.

"They are so," Ginny says and by the look on Hermione's face she would be wise not to press the issue further. "They have a salute, a meeting place and a uniform. They're a cult." However, wise is not a word I would ever use to describe my younger friend.

Fire shines in Hermione's eyes as she throws her bag over her shoulder and makes to leave the library ahead of us. Using that distinctive walk she usually implements when I have angered her in some way. At the very least I am safe in the knowledge that this was in no way my doing.

Leisurely my long stride catches up with her frantic steps, dropping my arm over her shoulder in a gentle embrace, trying to mollify her without words. I know that I have none that would be adequate as my awareness of Muggles is, I know, severely lacking. The tension begins to slip from her muscles almost instantly and she returns my hold for only a moment before dropping her arm to her side. I take this a silent plea for personal pace and untangle myself from her, both of us remaining quiet, as Ginny jogs to catch up with us.

The silence borders on deafening and does very little to lift the agitation running along my skin. I had hoped that company would at least provoke conversation and take my mind off the last lesson I have tomorrow. "Does it frustrate you?" I ask Hermione and wait till she has turned her head towards me before I continue. "That we don't know much about Muggles?"

"Hey," Ginny makes a sound of indignation from across of Hermione.

I jump to defend myself. "Well, we don't." I am well aware of my shortcomings in that particular field.

Hermione sighs. "Ignorance is fine. Bliss even. It's the half-truths that get misconstrued, that's what really gets to me."

"Yeah, but then you get all frustrated and don't explain it properly," Ginny says, on some level trying to defend her lack of awareness to a world we are all surrounded by. Like it or not Muggles outnumber witches and wizards, significantly. Not only that, from what little I have seen in my ten-day holiday they appear to be getting on just fine without us.

I quicken my stride as we pass through the entrance hall, my sense of demureness taking over and I pull on the heavy oak door, letting in a fresh breeze of cool spring air. Standing at the side but still letting my lungs fill with the freshness, smelling nature in its purest form and the freedom found outside of these imposing walls.

Dutifully I wait for the two other women to pass beneath the threshold before stepping out behind them and closing the large arched door. Sharing a smile with Hermione when she passes. Actions like this may well be pressed into my very nature but it does bring me some pleasure to see that she enjoys this form of attentiveness.

"I know. I shouldn't do that," Hermione says, conceding the point. "But sometimes I get the impression that you're just not interested."

"What are you talking about?" Ginny asks, waving her arms about in an exaggerated manner. "Of course I'm interested."

As I draw level with the two I notice Hermione's jaw clench under her skin. This direction in conversation is doing nothing but frustrating her, the one part of her life that she is categorically superior to us but finds herself completely unable to express it. Something I can relate to. Perhaps it is time to try and find some common ground between the two on this subject. "I for one could make more of an effort to understand."

Hermione touches the skin at my palm until I widen the space between my fingers so she can entangle them with hers. "You are making an effort," she assures me. "Especially lately."

I raise my eyebrow at her in a sarcastic style; even after a long conversation I still do not understand the purpose of a phone. Don't these Muggles have fireplaces they can use for long-range communication? I may be making an effort, but I do believe that I am blinded to most of it by my own perceptions of the world. "I don't know how you do it," I tell her in all seriousness, my head turns sharply in the direction of the forbidden forest, something just outside of my senses catching hold of my attention, gripping onto it and not letting go.

"Do what?" Hermione asks and when I fight against my instincts to return my awareness back in her direction, I can see her gaze trying to follow where mine had just been drawn towards.

I have to shake my head to clear it, the nagging sense that something is just outside of my perception, still tugging at the very edges of my conscious mind. "Live in both worlds," I start to say, hoping that by putting voice to my thoughts I might be able to shake off the feeling that has suddenly descended upon me. "We have magic, they have machines. Both serve the same purposes. I have so much trouble getting my head around that, but not you. Everything you've seen in this school should be as strange to you as Muggles are to me. Yet you take it all in your stride and you excel so spectacularly. I just don't know how you do it."

"You smooth talker, you," Ginny mocks, lifting her head from where she had been looking intently upon her slowly travelling feet. "One day, you are going to tell me how you do that."

I shrug off the words, that to my ear strike somewhere between an insult and a complement yet never being either. "I didn't do anything."

The redhead scoffs and rubs her hands together in a bid to generate warmth. When her lips press against them to brow hot air between her palms I realise she will not comment further.

Hermione however, is slowly becoming aware of my complete incompetence when it comes to personal exchange and clarifies for me. "You were being understanding and caring."

So Ginny must have bestowed a complement on me. It feels strange to receive one, pleasant, but strange. "In that case, I must surely be growing," I say, letting a smile grace my features.

"Yeah?" Ginny questions. "Just so long as you don't get any taller, we'll be just fine." She concludes in a prime example of her total inability to stick to one subject for any length of time.

I know too late that I had been leading the group, my stride unconsciously dragging me towards the tree line and closer to the feeling that something tapers on the very edges of my sense. I quickly distinguish it as a taste in the air muffled somewhat by the trees and foliage but it is distinctly unpleasant, yet completely indescribable. My gaze is driven towards those trees, wondering why my tongue would be the first to notice the change in the air. Not my nose or ears, which I have come to realise, are the senses that have been most dramatically enhanced by Ammy's interference.

Hermione's hand squeezing mine just a little tighter in her grasp pulls my sights down to her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm…" I make to soothe her fears, truly I do. Wishing to push away the stimuli to my nagging senses, as far to the back of my mind as possible. That is until something touches my ears, a barely audible groan. Pressing against my eardrums as nothing more than a low pitched hum but just one-note clutches at my awareness and refuses to let go. Distress. The aching sensation in my chest makes the decision for me long before I turn my pleading eyes to Hermione and issue a soft command of "Stay here."

I turn and push my long steps across the grass, closer to the edge of the forest. Behind me I hear Ginny scoff, her voice carrying over in the gentle breeze. "Why does she say things like that? It's not like we are going to listen to her," she speaks just as I duck under a low hanging branch and step into the foliage.

Immediately the light diminishes around me, the brightly shining sun blotted out by the thick canopy high above my head. The dense carpet of leaves, dried out and brittle from such a long hard winter, crunching beneath my weight with each step.

Behind me I hear my two companions enter the forest against my wishes, a distinct change in their footfalls reaching my ears as they try to navigate the dense foliage with only human sight to guide them.

I have long become accustomed to my eyes changing instantly, allowing me to see in almost pitch darkness and a high degree of natural light. So I am unsurprised that when I set my sights into the deep, ominous shadows of the forest, blues and greens fading into distinguishable tones of grey and everything around me snaps into sharp focus. In truth only the light made by man poses any situation where I must allow me eyes sufficient time to adjust.

What does surprise me is the fluidity of movement I have between the trees, without having to even cast a second glance I find myself stepping over a protruding root, covered in a thick layer of moss and dead leaves.

Not far from where the shadows meet the daylight a thick oak tree has fallen, either to the elements or time, it matters little but is high enough to provide a good vantage point over the undergrowth and it still short enough to be climbed with little effort. With no concern for the slippery moss and mud that cover everything along the floor, I find another root with my shoe, grasping the branch of a nearby maple tree to hoist myself up and onto the immense log.

My fingers grasp uselessly through the thin layer of plant life until I find solid wood beneath my digits. My shoulders bunch tightly with the strain, lifting my entire body weight until my knees follow suit, resting lightly against the aged bark. After gathering my balance I stand, with far more graze and ease than I would have expected. Every sense spread out around me in the hunt for the creature that has promoted this venture in the first place. Ignoring the smell of the damp earth, the sound of the rapidly beating hearts of the two human women that have followed me, and the underlying sound of life that fill the vastness of this space I search, hunting a pray that has been swallowed by the darkness.

Breathing heavily, the two ladies come to a stop at the base of my high perch. "What is she…? You know what never mind." Somewhere in my consciousness I hear Ginny speak. Perceiving the words with crystal clarity only fogged by the concentration I have placed on my surroundings. "What the Hell are you doing?" Her words pale into insignificance, overpowered by the rapid scan of the locality, the twitch of my ears for any distinguishable sound and the thirst for the hunt.

Instinct takes over for only a second, in the form of a long deep breath drawn in through my nose and my head turns sharply left. Somewhere through the damp greenery, the smell of the earth itself and the life hidden within the forest floor, I detect the coppery scent of blood. Scarlet and rich, coating my tongue, invading my senses, primal instincts now in full swing but not for the supple tastes of flesh, a ferocious protectiveness, for my territory, my land, the creatures within it belonging to me. A rage fills me that any would cause them harm while my back is turned.

I feel my upper lip lift high in a snarl, a feral growl shooting from deep within my chest into the open air and instantly I can smell fear. The source distinctly human where the pain and blood I can smell are not. Rolling my shoulders I allow my eyes to close. This frame of mind is of no use to me and I know I must remain here to dispel it. It only takes two breaths to calm the rage beneath my breast, and once more my inhuman senses take over, calmer this time, more in control with another focus another purpose.

With the location of the distressed animal already made available to me it doesn't take long to rediscover it in the gloom. Humanity overrides the primal urge at the scent of blood, picking apart the gentle undertones that can be smelt beneath it. Logic identifies the species and my eye twitches in annoyance and those implications.

Dropping down to one knee I place the flat of my hand against the bark, pushing all of my weight upon the limb so my feet lift and twist over the edge, only to land stolidly against the ground, my knees bending on impact to take the strain to such severity that the backs of my knuckles touch the damp earth.

"Wow." Ginny says with awe. "Where did you learn to climb like that?"

Knees straighten, seconds before my spine, my gaze still cast about between the high leaves, my advanced senses tracking the movements of the injured animal. "I didn't," I hear myself answer distantly. Such new abilities are of interest to me but all investigation must remain until a later date, right now I have something more pressing that I plainly cannot ignore. The beast inside of me simply will not allow it.

My muscles filch all along my arm at unexpected contact and for just a millisecond I think I might lash out, cast my limb in a high arch and remove the annoyance. That is until I look down into concern clouding the brown eyes I love so much. Her forehead bunches as she looks up at me, drawing together in the centre with worry. "What is it?"

"A centaur, I think." I reply, trying to drag my mind out of the primal haze and having little luck in doing so. "Whatever it is, it's definitely injured."

"There is no way you can know that for certain." Ginny comments thankfully refraining from any form of physical contact for I truly do not know how I might react to that. "Is there?"

"Smells like a horse but not quite," I answer, my gaze going back to the forest and I feel a longing burning within me to dash between the trees. "It's my best guess." The scent I admit is alien to me, when it hit my nostrils at first my mind could not recall any similar smells for me to compare it to. Not until my human mind overrode that of the wolf to clinically pick it apart. "I have to help it." The words leave my mouth and I'm certain they're not mine. What would I care of a half-breed's well being? I know categorically that the forest is dangerous and I cannot fathom why I would willingly put myself into that danger to aid another creature.

"Yeah," Ginny says and I hear her fingers pass through her hair. "You do know that centaurs aren't exactly known to enjoy the company of humans."

For the first time my gaze rests upon hers, she takes an instinctual step back from me but I cannot detect a hint of fear about her person. As if a force greater than either of us has pushed her back. "I'm not exactly human though. Am I?"

Strong fingers grasp my chin and force my gaze back towards Hermione. The fire in her eyes almost makes the wolf inside me shrink in fear in the face of them. "We'll talk about that statement later," she promises, thrusting an almost accusatory finger in my direction. "Right now, there is no way I'm letting you go into that forest by yourself. It's dangerous in there."

"I know," I reply and my muscles tense without my thought. "But I can't just do nothing."

"Why?" Is all she asks, betraying her character to aid all that are in need of it in order to protect my safety.

"Because she won't let me," I tell her, my teeth gritting with restraint. Holding my knees locked in place so I do not give into the temptation to race off without further discussion.

Her bottom lip pulls between her teeth, she knows instantly I speak of Ammy. Make no mistake about it, I am well aware that these thoughts and feelings are hers. Still a sensation somewhat detached from my own opinion but simply put so strong that they literally over power my will. The mere thought of just walking away makes my stomach churn and my muscles tremble.

She shakes her head, her eyes wondering the forest, so close to just releasing me to the wilderness, but that final tether holding me in place. "Then we'll go and tell Hagrid, he can…"

"Retrieve him if you wish," my speech holds as I draw breath, more tension as I force myself to resist when every fibre of my being is screaming at me to do. "I must still attend to this."

I don't know what she sees as she looks into my cold blue irises. Perhaps the determination that stems from the animal within, or even Ammy herself stomping around behind my eyes begging for release. This is unlikely, as I doubt she is able to see much in the very limited light around us but still her face begins to soften. Relenting to my resolve far quicker than I would have expected. "Alright. I'll go tell Hagrid. We'll come in after you if you're too long."

Ammy practically screams with joy and already my body is moving, deeper into the dim, gloomy forest.


	34. Chapter34: Straight from the Horses Mouth

Chapter 34

Prickling heat covers my skin in direct contrast to the cool wind sweeping around my form, both of the elements the first indication that I am sprinting. Ducking under braches and leaping over large rocks, never once slipping on the soggy earth, or losing my footing on a protruding obstruction. All of this without effort, without awareness, my body twisting, turning, weaving, bending, carving a path through the dense vegetation with the ease of a hot knife through butter.

As the spaces between the high trees begins to widen my legs start to draw to a jog, eyes scanning through the lush greenery, seeking a new point of reference to close the distance between myself and my quarry. With a sharp turn to the left, my nose follows the steady trail of blood left all around, eyes detecting a splash of red on a nearby outcropping, even though in such darkness I have little perception of colour.

My feet all but stop from under me, breathing heavily after the exertion but able to keep my intakes steady. Relying on my highly sensitive ears to lead me the last few yards to the injured beast as his scent all but surrounds me and provides no indication of the direction I should follow.

A grunt punctures the air, a sound so low in both pitch and volume even I might have missed it had I not been seeking it so intently.

Forcing myself to remain at the pace of a steady walk so I do not startle the animal, I push against the thin braches obscuring my vision, high above my head and lay eyes on the centaur I had been in search of.

He can be little more than a foal, defiantly preteen if the lack of body and facial hair is anything to go by. His human body porcelain white, while his hindquarters palomino blond to match the mop of hair upon his head. He faces me but has twisted his small upper body around and is bent at a seemingly awkward angle in a feeble attempt to reach his rump.

I have been neither heard nor spotted by the youthful stallion, which is odd to say the least. I had been under the belief that these creatures, while majestic and gallant were always somewhat cautious. Much of their interests may be found in the stars, but to be able to survive in the harshness of the wilderness they must also be constantly aware of the here and now. However I must remind myself that what stands before me is but a boy. A child of the forest yes but a child all the same.

I find myself faced with the agonising decision of how exactly to proceed. The scent of blood still hangs like a thick fog in the air all around me, yet this creature still bears his own weight so it would be easy to assume the unseen wound, while painful is not immediately life threatening. With that in mind, I have neither reason nor inclination to scare the lad, especially when he rides upon four legs and I only two. Even with this grace I possess, which has so recently become apparent, he could outrun me in seconds. The wolf inside of me has already made it clear that this creature evading my assistance will not be tolerated and I will be forced to pursue.

Consciously I push my leg out in front of me and press my toes deep into the carpet of leaves around our feet, pushing against them to shuffle them from their resting place. The small innocuous sound alerts him to my presence almost instantly, his back going rigid, as the stinging scent of fear pierces the air. I allow myself a very private smile, safe in the knowledge that even in such early stages of development centaurs are very attuned to the nature around them.

His human torso jerks around a moment later, his eyes wide open in the dim light but still I watch a spark of dread pass across those irises. His hindquarters shift in a very nervous gesture and his foreleg bends at the knee, weather to flee or stamp at the ground with his hoof I am uncertain but I must make sure he does not perform the former.

Quickly I hold out my hands, palms facing him in the universal sign of peace. Contouring my face into a mask of concern and keeping my voice as calm as possible "Wait." His rear end shifts, altering his direction drastically and I can see him heavily favouring one side, even as he begins to drag his front hoof against the ground in a highly threatening manner. "You're injured." I remind the boy, knowing from experience that a perceived threat can dull the pain throughout your body, overriding it with a need to survive.

"Yeah." He admits his voice high in pitch to show his age but still his hooves remain restless. He wishes to run, take off for his home at the gallop but something stops him. "Stay away, human." He says a moment later, all four of his legs take him back a step or two away from me.

It takes considerable effort to catch his eyes, considering that they are scanning the trees around us, presumably looking for his parents to protect him from the strange woman who has appeared so abruptly. Once I have his gaze locked on mine I refuse to lose the connection, holding them open even as they begin to sting. "I just want to help you." The quasi-falsehood tastes bitter on my tongue and shame assaults me with more vigour than I can ever remember. Had Ammy's insistent emotions not provoked this venture into the forbidden forest I would very likely have simply ignored that note of distress I heard in the wind. Now seeing the boy's age, the pain and uncertainty on his face, I could not imagine myself leaving this creature to its fate.

He takes another step back, disbelief plain across his face, his long tail whips out, I can see the muscles bunching all along his coupling and rump, a clear indication that he is preparing to rear up before bolting off where I will be unable to follow. "Look at me." I implore. Hoping a praying that all my studies have not been in vain, I am quite firmly under the impression that these creatures possess sight very different to ours. Able to see right into the very heart and soul of any of the people they come across, this may be why they have deemed us unworthy company.

It is my hope that he might see the animal inside of me before he sees into my soul and finds it black. That his age might make him more trusting to a fellow half-breed before the nature of my human half might make him turn and flee in terror. "Just look at me. I'm as human as you are."

That appears to grab his attention, his head tilting to the side, deep in his curiosity. As I let him appraise me I watch as his expressive rear-end stops all movement, no longer appearing so nervous whilst in my company. "A childe of the moon." He says, his voice taking on a distant tone.

Thinking that I might be making progress I keep my arms outstretched so he can see my unthreatening hands, stopping in my tracks when his human torso clenches and he once more scans the trees. I'm losing what little trust I have gained and I must retrieve it. "I've never heard that expression before." I say, my voice low and calming. "You've heard of my kind?"

His body is still tense and his movements are abrupt, even as he swings his gaze towards me. "Savage beasts."

"True enough." I concede. It would be unjust to call the observation in any way a misconception but using my slip from humanity is the only card I have to play. "But do I appear savage now?"

This does little more than confuse him, drawing attention to my slow and passive movements. "No." He says after a long pause, curiosity clouds his face and instantly I know that I have, at least for the moment, halted any thoughts and making off without accepting my aid. "Neither human nor beast."

Now it is my turn to be confused. Surly I can only be described as both; especially with the primal half of my being pushed so close to the surface and dictating my actions. "That's a nice way to look at it." I say, taking a step forward and silently cheering when the young pony holds his ground.

He points at me in a manner I would normally consider to be impolite, had he not been so young I might have taken offence, even when I hear awe clouding his voice. "It's in your eyes."

Can he see Ammy? As she prowls around in my mind, still very present in my consciousness but remaining conspicuously quiet. Or can he see my intentions? "What is in my eyes?"

His eyes sparkle in spite of the pain he must feel and his face pulled into a bright, beaming grin. "The brightest of lights."

Well that made everything as clear as mud; I shake my head at the thought. Had I really expected a straight answer from a centaur? Although I cannot tell you what it is he means and I am intrigued, I change my tactics, Ammy's emotions pushing a sense of urgency to tend to the wounded animal. "What's your name?" Another slow step closer and slowly I bring my hands down to my sides, it doesn't appear to bother him in the slightest.

"Tamlen." He answers me slowly, his eyes still taking in my form and apparently not noticing the change in my position. "And you?"

Sidestepping slightly to get a better view of his rump, I spot the trickle of blood coating his hind leg, trailing all down his gaskin and dropping steadily off the hock of his rear leg. "These day's people call me Jamie." I answer him trying not to sound overly distracted as I visually assess the wound.

"And you let them?" He asks so innocently that it snaps my attention back to the conversation.

Slowly I shrug, "I kind of like it." I admit. It is certainly preferable to my given name, having heard it for most of my life. Wanting to change the course of the talk back to the matter at hand I barely pause for breath before I continue. "That looks painful." Not to mention he is still steadily losing blood. The gash may only be slowly oozing his life's liquid but it is showing little signs of stopping if it is not tended to.

He winces as if just now noticing and takes even more weight off his hind leg. "It is." The admittance sounds forced to my ears and quickly I relate the tone, to a feeling of discomfort over having me see him in such pain.

"Can I look at it?" My question is followed by a long, heavy silence. His face showing his indecision to me, the creases catching what little light is available, casting across his features in long shadows of irresolution.

Calmly, I remain perfectly still, listening to his heart pounding against his chest in a frantic rhythm. The poor boy has no idea what to do, to have anything even resembling a human touching him for any reason must considered a gross insult, but something has made him lame and with no other forms of aid forthcoming he has little choice.

It takes many minutes for him to nod his consent and when I make to walk towards him with my long gait he physically flinches, forcing me to take a much slower approach.

When I am within touching distance I slowly reach out my hand, flattening my palms against his foreleg where he can clearly see my movement. Marvelling at how young a creature such as this can be and still rival my excessive height, the top of his head overshadowing mine by at least two inches. Keeping my eyes on his face I run my hand with as much haste as I dare along his back and over his croup. Softly uttering a command of "Keep still," when he tries to shift to keep my movements in his view.

As my fingers gently graze the deep incision in his hindquarters, they shift sharply, so I rest an open palm against the deep curve of his back, hoping that it might offer him some comfort. His shoulders bunch and I watch as a grimace passes across his face just before he turns away. It's probably for the best, I certainly wouldn't wish to stare at a gaping wound while another species prods and pokes at it. "How did this happen?" I ask, just as my fingers touch the thick, warm trail of blood. Deeply imbedded in the horseflesh is some sort of object and even the small surface that protrudes feels sharp to the touch.

"Mountain of a man," He pauses as I push against the obstruction, finding it lodged deeply into his hide. When he speaks again I can hear his teeth grinding and a grunt of pain laced through each syllable. "Likes to throw rocks."

He cannot see me, but still I turn disbelieving eyes in his direction. Can this sharp implement really be made of stone? However the other part of his sentence is what I question. "There are no giants in the Forbidden Forrest." He gives a short humourless laughter but doesn't comment, taking on a district air of superiority. An infuriating trait shared by all centaurs I know, but who would have guessed it started so young. The current direction of the conversation is doing little to relax the boy, judging by the ridged line along his human back, so I quickly drop the subject. "This has to come out."

Every pretence around him drops as he turns to me, worry shining in his eyes. He face takes on an expression that is much more suited to his age. He may still be looking down on me but he is still turning to his elders for help. "Won't that hurt?"

Slowly I nod, "I would think so." The scent of panic hits the air and invades my nostrils. Reacting instantly, I bunch my hand into a fist through his withers, vowing now that I have seen the severity of the wound that I will keep my grip and hold him firm. "Calm down. I can help with the pain." Blood covered fingers leave his wound and push against the open sides of my robes, streaking an ugly line of scarlet all along the handle of my wand as it falls into my grip.

As soon as he sees the wooden shaft he twists and turns batting at my outstretched arm that is still tangled in his mane. "I need none of that help."

Shuffling my feet to follow where his nervous hooves lead while trying to keep my exposed toes out from underneath them is no easy task I assure you. "And what use has your clan for a lame horse?" This does little more than anger him, it was my intention to be frank but I may have to rethink my approach, before he begins to buck and threatens to dislodge my shoulder at the joint. "Look at me!" I yell over the pounding of hooves and his exasperated grunts. He stops and looks shocked in my direction, startled that I might dare to raise my voice at him. "Look at me." I implore again, even though that is already what he is doing. That light that he mentioned, that once calmed him so, it is that which I wish him to see again. So ducking my head I catch his eyes, holding them and quickly he goes still. "I don't want to hurt you."

His eyes hold an accusing shine, as does his voice once he allows his lips to lift in a sneer and speak. "Yet you brandish your wand."

"It's not always a weapon." I assure him, still keeping my eyes locked to his; silently noting that my gaze once connected almost commands his. Holding him and forcing a deep calm though the shoulders under my fist. "You have to trust me."

His mouth opens as if to contradict but does no more than remain open. The light is so dim that I cannot tell you the true colour of his eyes, only that in my vision they resemble a pale grey but still they shine with his thoughts and feelings. He doubts himself, that light he referred to that I couldn't fathom, halting the panic in its tracks for a second time. I know I cannot question its effects for fear of it extinguishing, for if that happens he will surly pull free. After many long moments he merely nods, keeping those keen eyes on the long strip of wood in my grasp. As my wand touches his rump I keep my gaze trained on his face, looking for the fright to return but it does not, instead he gazes at my magic as if truly seeing it for the first time. "What are you doing?"

The calm I hear in his tone gives me enough confidence to return my eyes to the intricate task of removing this object. "I'm making it so you can't feel the pain." In truth, healing is not a form of magic I am well versed in. Inflicting pain I am much more proficient at, so I have applied that knowledge to the task set before me.

The spell I use is often used as a curse, deadening an area of skin to the touch, it can quite easily be used on a full body and render in completely useless. In all honesty I am finding it quite difficult to reduce the strength of the spell in order to only deaden the muscles around the wound but at least he is no longer frightened. Turning my wrist I gently prod at the blooded area experimentally. "Does that hurt?"

"I cannot feel anything." He says, his eyes shooting up to me in question.

I offer him no answers, not wishing to divulge the true nature of the magic I am using. Only nod. "You might want to look away for this."

For a moment his eyes flick from his rump to mine and back again until understanding covers his face and I can once more detect a hint of fear. He makes no attempt to run and in truth if he had I am uncertain how far he could travel before the effects of the curse truly took effect and rendered his hind leg useless.

With his back turned to me I push my wand between my teeth and press my fingertips against either side of the obstruction, giving a sharp tug against it to test his reaction before I proceeded. Finding none I set about trying to remove it completely, pressing it from side to side to pull it free while trying to cause as little damage to the flesh as I can. Already running through a mental list of spells I can use once completed to stop the bleeding.

After several moments it pulls free, the triangle of rock lifting from the muscles with a sickening sound and more blood coasts his pale horsehair. Without a care for the state of my clothing I drop the sharp implement into my pocket for disposal later, while quickly pulling my wand from between my teeth and holding it an inch from the torn skin. Knowing that I have little experience with this form of magic I chose the strongest spell to my knowledge and even take the precaution of singing a soft chant of, 'Vilnera Sanentur' repeating the incitation a full three times even after the gash has healed into a thin line of bare skin amongst the thick hair around his rump.

"Is it over?" I hear asked after a deep silence has claimed us for several heartbeats. Tamlen's voice taking on that of a child for the first time, his demeanour betraying his age as much as his appearance.

Letting my fingers come loose of his withers I run my thumb over the line of exposed skin. Not even a scar remains and the hair will grow back given time. "That's it." I say and with a flick of my wand silently remove the curse, which has numbed the pain. "How does it feel?"

He gives a stomp of his back leg, the hoof digging into the ground on impact. "Much better."

It is only when I smile at his awestruck face that I notice the sound of a stampede. Heavy hands descend from above a moment later, pressing against my collarbone and throwing me down onto the ground. As I strike the earth, I feel my palm press against an unknown sharp hazard, nestled deep into the leaves and hidden from sight. Breaking my skin so the blood of two beasts may blend upon it. Ignoring the prickly, annoying pain I allow my training to take over and I raise my wand a moment later at my unseen attacker. Disquieted by the fact that I had been so intend in aiding the wounded animal that I had failed to notice the danger until it was too late to retreat from it.

Above me the terrifying sight of a horse's underbelly invades my vision. Heavy, hard hooves bearing down on me as the adult centaur rears back, placing his body between the boy and myself and even though I do not cry out or give any indication of my fright my heart begins to hammer so hard in my chest that I find it unthinkable that all the creatures around me are unable to hear it. The adult gives out a strange noise somewhere between a whinny and a battle cry, the noise pressing against my eardrums in a most intimidating manner. I feel fear coil into a cold, ball deep in my stomach and reaching out with my injured hand, trying to pull myself away from those dangerous hooves while still holding my only weapon in a defensive position, only to find nothing to grasp onto.

When cloven feet rest upon the ground, with more grace and dignity than I could ever have foretold, I lift my gaze only to find myself threatened by yet another weapon. The point of an arrow aimed directly between my eyes. The grip on my wand tightens but I restrain myself from uttering a spell, a mistake that could prove fatal but Ammy's strange feelings will not allow me to unleash any harm to these creatures without indisputable proof that it is only to defend myself.

Fighting against my instincts, I lift my sights still further, having to crane my neck to look up the impossible height of the beast before me. Finding his eyes alight with fury, lip pulled high over white teeth, bearing them like a predator waiting for its kill. The rage completely blinds him, he doesn't stop to take note of my recent action or even ascertain what they were, unimpeded by the loud cries of Tamlen behind him held back by an adult female.

The bow sting pulls more taught in his grasp and I know I must take action before I find that arrow hurtling towards me. So adjusting my aim ever so slightly I fire off a warning shot, the spell whistles past his ear, designed to catch his attention and force him to think of his next move. Due to my position, laid prone on the floor the curse flies upwards, impacting high above everyone's head against the bark of a tree, exploding on impact and the loud crack can be heard echoing between the trees for several long moments.

Unnerved by my show of strength the string becomes lax, but still the arrowhead remains trained in my direction. "What right have humans to trespass on our land?" He speaks, curtly and coldly, threatening me with his very tone.

"A duress of circumstance." I reply, lacing the same tone between my words, knowing that any show of weakness will be my end.

His forelegs twitch and I can see that he wishes to pace, exert energy and possibly scare me in the process. "What circumstance?"

"The boy was injured." I say in my own defence.

The female then enters the disagreement from an unseen place behind my immediate threat. "What interest have humans in us?"

The adult male's face appears to melt as he meets my gaze, slowly lowering his weapon until the tip points safely towards the ground. "There is no human here." How is it that the child was able to notice my condition quicker than this man?

After a short trot the female comes to stand next to what presumably is her husband of sorts, resting her open hand against his bicep. "A childe of the moon," I have to admit I am beginning to really enjoy that term. It is at least preferable to half-breed anyway.

"Who flourishes in the light." The man finishes, his eyes darting back and forth almost in wonder. Without warning he bends into a low bow, one of his forelegs outstretched far out in front of him showing me the vulnerable top of his head and exposed back. "Forgive us Mother, we did not realise."

Sensing no more danger from the creatures I drop my wand from its threatening pose. "What does that mean?" I ask instantly. The reaction of the young boy, to whatever they see shining in my eyes was fortunate to but for two adults to not only notice but to pay me such a high degree of respect borders on the impossible.

The woman adjusts her long, thin legs against the ground and makes no effort to protect Tamlen as he walks to her side. "Mother to us all." She says, remaining just as cryptic. "Your coming was foretold."

That small sentence has me up on my feet in an instant, ignoring the impending danger and stepping closer to the two centaurs. "Foretold?" The two share a glace, an unspoken communication that is both infuriating and somewhat familiar. The spitting image of what I have witnessed both Ginny and Hermione share on countless occasions but this time it is different. Where before I might experience a fleeting sense of curiosity right here and now I feel an urgency coil in my chest.

Taking a firm grip of my wand I step forward again, trying to catch the eyes of either adult so they might be able to explain. "What was foretold?"

The man takes a hesitant step back, both sets of eyes once more on me but still they continue to speak as though I cannot listen. "The vessel is still ignorant."

"It is too soon." The woman replies and I have to fight to urge to bind and beat the two until I receive something resembling of an answer.

I can feel the anger and frustration coiling along my shoulders and drawing them close. "What is that supposed to mean?"

The male once more bends, low to the ground. Keeping silent but still showing immense respect, he than backs away but never turning. Leavening his wife to step towards me. In her eyes I see a deep kindness that is irrefutable and for just a second I think she might just answer all of my questions. Reaching out she has to bend at the hip to rest it on my shoulder, squeezing the muscle under her fingers and sending me a bright smile. "When you have found the origin of all that is good, you may come to us again." Taking her turn she also bows, her long hair trailing along the carpet of leaves.

The small family turns and with a final glance back towards me as they take off at a gallop, leaving me in stunned silence, surrounded by the scent of blood. I have the sudden urge to scrub my palm over my eyes but stop myself at the sight of the scarlet liquid that covers my fingers.

"The origin of all that is good." I speak aloud when the sound of beating hooves travel far off into the woods. "You know what that means, don't you?" I say, knowing the animal inside of me will know that my words are directed towards her.

At this she does the very last thing I expect, leaving my consciousness with such abruptness that the feeling of loneliness that suddenly overtakes me threatens to drag me once more to the floor. Only by locking my knees in place and tensing my muscles against the almost painful sensation keeps me on my feet.

With no one else to question and nowhere else to turn I push my head back and take a deep breath of my surrounding. Letting my senses take flight and point me in the direction of the castle, what I find is a tangible scent of Hermione hanging in the breeze. The smell I know I am most familiar with and am most likely to find even in a crowded room, calling to me and brining me home after such a strange ordeal. I slowly amble my way in that direction until I can see the rays of light breaking through the high leaves.

"Hagrid, Jamie just ran in there." I hear Hermione's worried tone long before they have any hope of detecting my heavy footfalls.

"I know 'Ermione. But the Centaurs 'ave made it clear I 'ent welcome no more." The voice of the Care for Magical Creatures professor holds a hint of regret at not being able to follow me into such a dangerous place. It does beg the question, bearing in mind how long he has been accepted among all the creatures of the forest, why the centaurs would chose now to expel him from their midst.

For several minutes I listen to the distant argument. The words being perceived without issue but I am simply just uninterested with the content at this time. Instead choosing to ponder the strange words of the two nameless centaur adults who are, I assume, Tamlen's parents. Much of what has been said can simply be dismissed as centaurs speaking as centaurs do but two phrases stick in my mind, whizzing around in an endless loop, nearly unable to pick them apart.

What had they meant by 'Mother to us all'? They could not have spoken of me, not only am I very certain I have never bore a child, let alone one with the hindquarters of a pony but I also have no noticeable maternal instinct. So they speak of Ammy, surely they must but if she has only existed for as long as my disorder has, I hardly see that she would have had time to be Mother to anyone.

The second quandary is 'Origin of all that is good', an odd statement to be sure. The implications of such a beast are unthinkable. Where pure evilness is quite easily obtainable, if any entity were to be the origin of all that is good it must itself be the purest form of that. The existence of such a thing is quite frankly not possible, every man and beast, no matter the brightness of his or her soul, must be tainted in some form by the darkness. The shadows surround and consume by very nature and will swallow all in its path; some are just more susceptible than others.

The disagreement stops as I purposely step onto a small twig hidden in the undergrowth to alert them of my presence. Ducking under some low hanging leaves I break the tree line, stepping out into the warm rays of sunlight bathing the earth.

Before I can even draw breath three bodies surround me, one tall and imposing, almost making me want to shrink away. "Jamie you're bleeding." Are the first words I hear and numbly my eyes seek out Hermione's.

She is staring down at my hand, where a steady trail of blood drips from my fingertip and onto the grass. I had almost forgotten I had been injured. Silently I lift my hand for further inspection, the thick red liquid catching the light of the sun's rays. The layer over my skin is not thick but I am unable to detect the cut in the crease of my palm.

Lifting my other hand into my view I see it is also stained red, however the blood on my right side has dried, now matted against my skin and is slowly flaking away.

Filled with confusion I push my digits through the thick, wet crimson liquid that surly must be my own, pressing against both muscle and tendon in search of the injury, smearing blood in the thin layer across my skin only to find it unblemished.

Hermione takes my hand in both of hers, turning it this way and that and what she sees must correspond with what my eyes have witnessed and with her head still bowed she asks, "Was the centaur bleeding?"

"Yes." I answer in all honesty and I know I should continue. I know I should divulge that I had been certain that I too had sustained a wound, and yet there is no evidence of it now. That nagging thought at the back of my mind that maybe something within my psyche is slowly breaking, holds my tongue and now I must ponder if I must add delusions to my list of mental aliments.

"That's a lot of blood," Ginny observes. Keeping a step back, her normally pasty face looks ashen. "An awful lot of blood." Her neck muscles clench in an over exaggerated swallow, as if forcing bile back down into her belly.

Not only do I wish to shift the focus of my thoughts and the conversation but also a thought suddenly strikes me that I find odd. "Do you have a problem with blood, Ginny?"

Her wide eyes meet mine, the shadows underneath them emphasized by how pale she is quickly becoming. "Little bit."

"With Fred and George as brothers?" Hermione asks, finishing her inspection of my apparently uninjured hand, rubbing her fingers together to try and dispel some of the sickly liquid that is beginning to clot.

"It's not so strange." She says very defensively. "I can deal with vomit, spittle, puss and boils, but blood. Blood just freaks me out."

"Right then." Hagrid says, his gruff voice forcing me to crane my neck once again to look him in the eye. Only to find one surrounded by a healing bruise, the rest of the skin that can be seen over his thick beard, married in an assortment of cuts and abrasions. "Ginny, you 'ead back inside. Can't be scaring 'ny more of me students now." He puts a little more emphasis on the word 'scaring' than is strictly necessary, his torn face pulling into a frown.

Ginny nods frantically, already making to step away from us. "I'll see you guys later." Her cheeks puff out for a moment and I feel certain that she is ready to empty her stomach out onto the grass at her feet. She manages to somehow swallow it back and turns her sights towards the castle. "When there's less blood."

"Strange one, that girl." Hagrid comments, just as she leaves earshot. "Come on then. We'll get you two cleaned up."

I would much rather have risked entering the castle to cleanse my skin, the tall man may sound kind hearted but his sheer mass is quite imposing. It is a position I will not often permit myself to be in. However Hermione sends me a reassuring smile and I follow behind the two back into the small cabin the half giant calls home.

The top of his head brushed against the top of the door frame as he enters and when I climb the three small steps into the hut I am instantly assaulted by my a blood hound so tall his shoulders are level with my hip. A cold, wet nose pressed against the skin of my hands has me flinching away from it but already his nose is coated in the rapidly drying blood that still coats my hands. "Stop that." I hiss as low as a whisper. For some reason feeling deeply uncomfortable at the gesture of curiosity.

The mutt's ears lift in an expression that borders on understanding and his head tilts to the side in question. Shaking my head and chalking the display up to the commanding tone of voice I had used I push further into to the one roomed dwelling, where the very tall Professor has already taken the liberty of filling a bowl the size of a baby's bath tub with water.

Pulling my arm across my body I use my teeth to pull the sleeves of my robes up along my arm, until the bend of each elbow holds them in place. Immediately dropping both hands into the water and watching as spirals of crimson mix with the once crystal clear water.

"Fink you best tell me what 'appened." Hagrid says taking a seat at the small round table at the centre of the room and pulling out three mugs that are easily three times the size of one of my hands.

Hermione also dips her hands into the water, ridding herself of the taint I had passed to her. She only rubs them together for a second before she is happy they are adequate and removes them.

My own cleaning ritual is much more thorough. I am no stranger to blood on my hands, in both the literal and figurative sense. But to see it right before my eyes is always unsettling, always leaving me wanted to remove not only the physical presence of the substance but the mere memory of having seen it. "A centaur was bleeding, he'd been attacked." I state simply, still to lost in my musing over what had been said between those trees to want to elaborate.

"By what?" Hermione asks and I can feel her eyes on me, watching the vigorous scrubbing motions of my hands.

"He called it a mountain of a man." The water in the huge bow stops splashing against the rim as I stop all movement. Puzzle pieces falling into place all at once in my mind, cursing myself for being so blind and unable see it instantly. Slowly my head turns and I can feel the shock registering on my face twisting to take in the long form of the Professor, as he averts his gaze to the tabletop, finding the grain of the wood the most interesting thing in the room and running his meaty forefinger across it. The man who sits before me is a half giant, something that Tamlen had implied had taken to throwing rocks at him. The centaurs were defensive of their land, at the time I had thought it extreme, but I had never been in the presences of such a beast before. Then there is the fact that this man, who has held the respect of both man and beast alike for so long, would be so unceremoniously stripped of all respect. The injuries and sheepish look upon his face do nothing but confirm my theory. "But there aren't any giants in the Forbidden Forest." I start the mocking tone to my voice only making this man's shoulder slump. "Are there?"

"It en't like that." He says, still refusing to look in my direction. "Grawp's me brother, you see."

"Oh, well that makes everything alright then." My hands leave the water, my frustration is evident and it has chased away the image of crimson from my mind. Shaking them violently once into the bowl to dispense of the excess liquid I can feel my eyes beginning to blaze. Why do I keep putting myself into these situations? "You bring a dangerous creature onto the school grounds but it's fine, because he's your brother." I know I shouldn't take this tone of voice with a teacher but by merely knowing this I have once more placed myself in danger.

"He en't dangerous." Finally he turns his deep eyes in my direction and I can see that he truly believes his statement. "He just… Well he just don' un'erstand."

In only two steps I am at the table catching the half giant's eye as I take a seat, digging deeply into my pocket I retrieve the stone I removed from the young centaur. Holding it up between a thumb and forefinger for him to inspect. "Do you call this harmless?"

"Where'd you get that?" He says, shifting his position, looking for the stone under all the blood.

I can see the curiosity in his eyes so I throw the sharpened rock against the table for him to examine. "I had to dig it out of horseflesh."

"Well he just think's their playin' wiv' 'im" Very quickly this turn in conversation is making him distressed and for the first time I think I might have overestimated the emotional strength of this man, which strikes me as strange considering his size.

"I assure you they're not. And besides," Jabbing a finger against the table so he might better understand my viewpoint. "If Umbridge found out, she would lock you up and throw away the key."

"Are you going to tell her?" Hermione asks, a towel the size of a bath robe held between her hands but she has long since dried them.

"No." I say, deflating and sighing against my frustration. Leaning back heavily in the chair, resting my hand against my open palm supported at the bend of an elbow. "I'm still a half-breed. If she found out I knew about this, she'd do exactly the same to me." The large man in front of me smiles at my words, deeply consoled by the fact that I will keep his secret. Somehow, I fear that I cannot express the exact gravity of the situation to him, but still this secret now involves me so I must do all I can to protect it. "Will you just, try to keep him away from the other creatures?"

"I'll tal' to 'im." He assures and it does not exactly fill me with confidence.

Closing my eyes and dropping my head further so I can press my digits into both of my eyebrows, fighting back a headache that I can feel building. "I suppose that will have to do."

"Aye," The large man agrees and we all allow the silence to continue. That is until he speaks again, his voice much more light-hearted, the discussion washing off him like water along a duck's back. "Shall I put kettle on?"


	35. Chapter 35: Durability

Chapter 35

Skin; so durable yet so fragile at the same time, you can stretch it and pull it and twist it. It always springs back into place, sits just the way it should over bone and tissue. Then sometimes, unexpectedly it breaks, life's liquid pouring from within, every drop designed to repair it and return it to the original design. There is always evidence of that, a graze, a scab, a scratch, something left behind to remind you not to let this precious membrane break again.

Yet I find myself sitting here, silence only broken by the patter of rain on the windows and the constant stream of the shower in the next room, unblinking, unwavering in my hunt to find just a tiny blemish that might explain the overabundance of blood that coated my hand only hours before. I find nothing but the blue lines of veins under my wrist and the creases of my palm.

I felt it break; I felt my own blood staining my hand, wet and warm. I'm certain of it. It was dripping from my fingertips; long after it should have dried. Yet nothing, not even an angry red line, how is that even possible?

Heated fingertips graze the nape of my neck and my entire body flinches visibly. Startled out of my deep musing my eyes instantly search for any possible threat; already reaching down towards my wand on the desk in front of me before sight or thought even comes into play.

"I didn't mean to startle you." Hermione says in a very low voice, striding around my body and into my field of vision.

My hand hesitates over my wand, muscles tight and held at the ready for only a split second before her voice registers to my senses. While still trying to force my tense muscles under control, I instinctively run my fingers through my still damp hair to hide the reaction as best I can. "It's okay." I assure her.

I see her smile slowly, still keeping all of her movements as calm as possible. It makes me wonder how I must look. A tiger ready to pounce, perhaps? Or more like a mouse up against a hungry cat, but still fights to protect his home. Either way I cannot smell a hint of fear from her, only see the cautious way she approaches. "What were you thinking about?"

I pull my cheek between my teeth and avert my eyes so I may let at least a small portion of my mind still ponder the events of the day. "Something the centaurs said." Although I may omit many things that weigh heavily on my mind this is in no way a mistruth.

"I'm surprised they even let you get that close." She says stepping around me and letting her fingers trail along my skin until they curl under my chin and with only a single touch she has raised my head and captured my attention. "What did they say?"

"Nothing much to me." Pushing against the rug under my heel, I press my back further into the chair and slide down into a very uncharacteristic slouch. "They seemed more interested in talking to Ammy."

For just a moment she goes stock-still and I tilt my head in interest. "She spoke to them?"

"She didn't even speak to me." I say, turning my head to press my fingers into my eyes, stifling a yawn as I do. My temple rests on two erect fingers and my lungs heave a large sigh. Wondering why at the very moment someone recognises her existence she would chose to remain silent. "So I had nothing to relay to them." She breathes a sigh of what I perceive to be relief, I narrow my eyes at her in question, something had startled her, some notion that I am not privy to. She only offers me a tight-lipped smile and shakes her head so I do not press her. There is too much currently on my mind to give the action any serious

thought so I rest my eyes once more on the wooden grain of her desk. "Then they called me ignorant and I'm not sure if I should be offend by that or not."

She leans back perching on the edge of the furniture looking almost as distracted as I feel. "I'm sure they weren't implying you were stupid, Sweetheart."

"Are we speaking on the same magical creature?" I say meeting her gaze and we share a short moment of humour. "I think they were talking about Ammy, I don't know a lot about her, just that's she's in my head but they called her 'Mother to them all'."

Her eyes squint in thought for a moment before she beings to speak slowly. "How can a wolf be Mother to a centaur?"

"I know as much as you." I admit with a defeated note to my voice reaching out to press my index finger lightly against my wand, trailing it along the streak of blood that has seeped deep into the grain, staining it a deep red.

"What does Ammy have to say about the whole thing?"

I huff low in the back of my throat. The reaction of the wolf inside me is quite possibly most unsettling feeling I experienced today. Wherever she has scuttled off to she has not returned and the feeling of emptiness left in her wake is difficult to ignore. "She's proving to be very evasive."

Hermione lets out a soft chuckle that had my eyes upon her in moments, questions burning in my eyes as I try to puzzle out what exactly it is she finds so comical. "The voice in your head is secretive. At least you might get a taste of your own medicine."

"It's infuriating." All she does is raise both of her eyebrows at my statement, silently indicating that she feels the same over my persistent silence. "Point taken." I push against the back of my seat, leaning far forward until my bent elbows rest against my knees, scrubbing both of my hands over my face, before letting them pull against my skin and rest over my mouth and chin. "That's not all." I say finally, the words muffled by my hands over my lips but I know she has heard me; she remains both still and silent, waiting patiently for me to continue. "I was bleeding." I state simply.

"No you weren't." She counters immediately leaning further back on her perch and crossing her legs at the ankle.

"I know what I felt." I reply, turning my gaze back to my unblemished hand once more.

I can hear her sigh and her fingers invade my vision, taking my hand in her grasp and studying the same patch of skin that I had been glaring at. "Where, show me where?" She implores, turning my limb left and right so it catches the candlelight from every angle. "You can't have been bleeding that much and it not left a mark."

"I know that's what I've been trying to figure out," I reply snatching back my appendage in frustration. "But if it had been the centaur's blood it would have dried by the time I got to you."

"Alright," She throws her hand up in a show of defeated and raises both of her feet to rest them on the seat of the chair I currently occupy. "For the sake of argument, let's just say you're right. It was your blood. When did you get this mystery injury?"

"I…" I pause, running the experience through my mind again. "Tamlen's parents, they turned up and pushed me down."

"Who's Tamlen?" She asks, resting her hand out flat behind her for support.

"The centaur that was injured." I answer. "I felt the pain, I felt my blood. It must have been then."

"So if you'd of healed as quickly as you say you did, with no scratches, no marks. Why would you still be bleeding when you reached us?" She pauses and all I can do is watch her watching me, waiting for me to reply to her with answers that I simply do not have. "Sweetheart, that doesn't make any sense."

"I know," I answer immediately around a deep heave of breath. "It doesn't add up. I know that but it's not as if this is the first time something like this has happened." Both of her eyebrows shoot skywards in question and I sigh at my own blunder. Dropping my forehead into my hand. "Damn." I whisper to the rug beneath my feet.

"When were you going to tell me about this?" She asks, and I can hear a tone in her voice that borders on disappointment.

Pushing the curve of my finger deep into the corner of my eye I try to place exactly when and where I dropped all of my barriers, what this woman was able to say or do to loosen my tongue to such an extent that I no longer check my speech when I am in her company. She makes a low noise in the back of her throat to indicate she will not allow this matter to drop no matter how long I grit my teeth to keep my silence. "Now, I suppose." I answer lifting my gaze to hers and seeing a fire burning in her eyes as a command to go into more detail. "It was months ago, when I was first turned into…" I pause, still deeply uncomfortable with the term werewolf when I refer to myself. "This." I finish vaguely casting my hands around my own body. "I had scratches. No, they were more like scars. When I got to the hospital wing they were gone."

"Gone?" She says with a very disbelieving tone to her voice. "And you never told anyone?"

I shrug at her question; at the time there was literally no one available to me that I could have turned to. By the time I would have felt comfortable speaking to anyone at all let alone speaking of my mysterious injuries it didn't feel like the right time to bring it up. "I'd almost convinced myself I'd imagined it." I say in truth, I had come close and then I had merely stopped thinking about it. Other things became a priority. "Now, I'm not so sure."

"If you do heal faster than you used to, and I'm not saying that you do," She quickly counteracts as my gaze shoots to her. "There's no way we can really know until Ammy becomes a little more talkative."

"Yes there is." The thought leaves my mouth before I can cage it. It is something I should have kept to myself, should have thought in private so as not to worry her but still it is in the open air now and there is little I can do to recall the words once I have put voice to them. "I could test it."

"No." Her answer is immediate and forceful. Although I cannot see how she would enforce such an instruction. She cannot keep me within her sights for every moment of every day and I know the look on my face conveys that very thought. Her feet hit the floor and she puts her full weight upon them to move herself across the room. "You're talking about cutting yourself."

I keep my sights on her tense form, turning my head to keep her in my field of vision. "I'm talking about administering a very small, very safe injury so I can monitor it."

"You've just dressed it up in fancy words. It's still cutting yourself." She says. In frustration her hands cover her face and slide up to balled fists in her unruly hair. "Right now, at this moment you're not bleeding, why can't you just accept that?"

"Because I should be." I answer and I can see that my words do not sit well with her. Slowly I push myself to my feet, racking my brain for a way to put this into words. Tell her why this is so important. "Or at the very least have something to show for it." I can see her mouth open and the breath drawn into her lungs to begin this argument, I cut her off before she can begin. "I concede that it is possible, I did not sustain an injury. It's plausible that there was blood in the forest and I put my hand in it at some point on my walk back. This is possible." I pause, waiting for her to speak but her jaw closes and she clenches it tight. "But I'm a…" My tongue goes so heavy it feels like it might break my jaw and I have to force out the word around the bitterness that fills my mouth. "A Werewolf. I should have scars to show for that and I don't. Surely that is enough to merely consider this."

She sighs deeply, turning to pace the length of the room twice, her bottom lip held between her thumb and forefinger, her eyes flicking up to meet mine with every other step. "Alright." Her arms cross around her stomach and even though she has begun to speak her gaze is still darting around the room. Her mind searching for the correct way to order her words before she fully commits to them. "Lets' just say, for arguments sake, that I agree to this." Sharply she pulls one of her arms loose to hold her forefinger outstretched, showing me her true disapproval even though her words are contradicting that viewpoint. "Only because there is no way I can stop you. What happens if you're wrong?"

Slowly I feel my shoulders bunch into a shrug, knowing that the actual outcome of such an experiment is by far most important. "Then the wound heals and we never talk about it again. At least I'll know. One way or the other I'll know."

She takes a seat on the bed, pushing the forefingers of each hand into the corner of her eyes. Her hands muffle her voice as she speaks. "This is a really bad idea."

"Granted," I admit still standing and pushing my hands into my pockets. "But do you have any better ones?"

"Yes." She says forcefully lifting her head and at my questioning look continues. "We wait for Ammy…"

Sharply I cut off that train of thought before it can begin, "The voice in my head that has been around for nearly a month and told me nothing." She sighs and I can see that she is very slowly, albeit begrudgingly coming around to my way of addressing this. "It's not safe for me to be completely ignorant to how my body reacts to injury."

"When was it considered safe to start slicing yourself open?" She says with sarcasm in her tone.

I shake my head slightly, wondering exactly where her overactive imagination had taken this suggestion. "I'm not proposing a life threatening wound Hermione." I slowly put one foot in front of the other gauging her reaction to my approach. When she doesn't flinch or show any signs of rejection I cover the space between us, lowering myself to my knees between her feet. Drawing us to the same level. "It need only be the smallest of superficial cuts. On a non vital part of my body, I'm not suggesting anything dangerous."

She sighs deeply and then meets my gaze in a meaningful way. Her warm hands close around my cheeks, pulling her lower lip between her teeth and I can see it trembling. "There has to be a better way."

"If you can show me another path I'll take it." I say, honestly. This particular approach is causing nothing but distress in my partner. This was not my intent and I do not wish to make excuses as to my behaviour but there is simply no way I can continue with my life without some sort of knowledge to my capabilities. I've ignored a lot of what I have observed for far to long, passing it off as something ordinary, when in truth it could be considered astonishing. My arms land on either side of her thighs on the bed, my fingers gently stroking her hips. "I'll take it," I repeat after a lengthy pause. "But Hermione, I have to be certain."

She looks deeply into my eyes for a long moment, what she sees I'm uncertain. Defiance maybe, or determination, whatever it is it makes her eyes slide closed in utter surrender. "Alright." She all but breathes before swallowing what must be a lump in her throat. "Alright," She begins a little louder, pulling her hands from my face as I watch resolve flood her system. "If we're going to do this, we're doing it my way."

So completely dumbfounded that she has even agreed to my subjection, I silently nod my head in consent. I had truly thought I would need to conduct the experiment in secret many days from today, from the moment the thought had left I my lips this rapid turn was not something I had anticipated.

"Right," She pulls her fingers into my view, pushing her forefinger against the digits of her other hand as she lists off her conditions. "One cut and I mean that Jamie. Just one. Doesn't matter if it works, no more finding out how deep you can slice. We wait and we ask Ammy." Even though I do not like this particular restriction I nod my approval, she does have a point, it would not be a pleasant way to meet my end if I were to become over zealous in my quest to discover the hidden capabilities of my own body. "Good. No veins and only deep enough to draw blood."

"I accept those terms." I say, having already agreed with myself the final two regulations she has put forward, long before they were uttered.

"Great," She says, with little enthusiasm even though she tries to smile. "So… How do we…" She pauses and looks down into her lap.

"I hadn't thought that far ahead." I admit. "But there is a scalpel in your apothecary set." She looks upon me in sheer horror. "I'd use mine but it's downstairs." I say trying to calm her. Thinking it was my blood on her tools that could have her in a state of such mortification.

"Jamie, that's hardly sanitary." Oh, so it is not my blood, my blood infesting with the disease I carry that disturbs her so. It's the state of her knife.

"It can be easily cleaned." I say, already running through some of the more intense spells to accomplish such a thing. If my theory proves right I have little fear of infection, but feel I must quiet at least this fear in my partner. "Any blade will do."

Slowly she brings a hand up to her mouth, extending a thumb so she can gnaw at the nail she finds there. Her eyes holding mine as she comes to a decision. "It's in my trunk."

I make myself wait, even though I can feel the anticipation clambering up my throat, my eagerness to begin, forcing my muscles to tremble but still I wait. I give her the time to take this back, this support for an exploit she sees as fruitless. I am under no illusion that I have placed her into a difficult position, knowing that I will pursue this even without her blessing but that does not make her presence a necessity.

She is hesitant and unwilling but still allows me to slowly stand. I make my way to her trunk without hearing her protest, but when the wrap containing her blades for potion making appears in my hand I hear her heart pick up a few beats. I try my best to ignore it but we both know I have been able to perceive the subtle change in her so I drop my eyes to the floor, going back over to her desk and placing the cloth package upon the wood. After only pulling at the knot it comes unravelled and it takes little effort to push open the wrap. Slowly, one by one fifteen blades are revelled to my eyes. All of various thickness and length all with a specific purpose, none of which include drawing blood.

I hear Hermione approach and feel her standing at my side, her arms wrapped around herself as a form of shield to what it is I am about to do. "Which one?" She says and I have to commend her for being able to conceal the shudder from her voice that I can see wracking her body.

Not wanting to meet her eyes, unwilling to see any of the emotions that I know I will find within them I continue to stare down at the polished metal. "I don't know," I admit. "I've never intentionally cut into living flesh before." What I had said I had meant to be taken in jest but her sharp intake of breath and the physical flinch I see in my peripheral vision is enough to tell me my words had not been received as such.

Somehow I resist the impulse to immediately apologise. Knowing that she needs to see assurance in my actions. So I pick a blade, forgoing the long knives and daggers and pulling the scalpel from within its cloth confines, resting it over its position in the wrap. It should make the cleanest cut and I will not need to add much weight in order to draw blood from my skin. The latter of my reasoning should be a reason to put it back into it's place and chose another but the thought of me losing my nerve after the initial pressure against my skin makes me commit to the decision.

She doesn't react to the choice, just following my gaze and stares down at it with menace.

Pulling my upper lip between my teeth I feel I must give her just one more opportunity to leave. "You don't have to be here Hermione."

"Yes I do." She answers with decisiveness and a detachment to her tone that I have never heard before. She reaches down and picks up the small, razor sharp blade. Adjusting her grip around it until her forefinger presses tightly against the blunted back. Her wand appears from nowhere, touching the shiny surface and she mutters a sanitising spell, the red mist engulfs the blade for only a moment before dissipating. Her eyes reach for mine and I can see a fire of determination blaze like an inferno. "Sit down."

Slowly I comply, curious as to her motives. She knees at the side of the chair and takes my wrist in her free hand. "You're not doing this." I state simply, that had not been part of the agreement. Where having a bystander administer the actual injury has it's advantages it is by no means fair to expect her to do so.

"Yes I am." She states quietly and tightens her grip around my arm. The cold metal touches my skin a moment later, just enough weight put behind it to stretch the skin but not to break it. Her hands are a steady as a rock and her eyes and fixed to the point where steel meets flesh. Her eyes flick up just once more to meet mine, pleading with me to halt all these proceeding but all I do is grit my teeth and brace myself.

I hiss with a sharp intake of breath as I feel the layers of skin pierced, and I turn my eyes down to the small wound no deeper than a paper cut and no more than a quarter inch in length. A droplet of blood beads on my skin, doubling in size before the tension breaks and it trickles down the side of my arm. I catch the crimson droplet with my thumb before it can fall to the floor, eyes still glued to it's point of origin, watching it intently for any sign of anything irregular.

For many long moments we both hold our breath, watching the blood repeatedly bead along the opening before I am forced to wipe it away to maintain a clear view. It's only when my blood begins to clot that Hermione release the air she had been holding in her lungs. "It's not healing." She says in a low voice.

"No." I agree after a pause. My forehead creasing in confusion, had I really been injured out in the wood or was that simply my apparently, overactive imagination playing tricks on me?

She heaves a long, deep breath and I am certain I can see relief flooding her face. Her wand is then hovering over my skin and a faint mutter of "Episky." Leaves her lips but nothing happens. The bleeding

has stemmed somewhat but that is due to my natural healing capabilities, not any effect form her spell. I can smell her panic as she waves her wand a second time.

I teeth clench under my skin, "Are you doing that right?" I ask and already I know the answer, before me sits Hermione Granger, not a snivelling first year with no idea how to handle their wand. There is no conceivable way that she is unfamiliar with any spell she has used on me.

Her breathing picks up and only now do her hands begin to shake. "I've used this spell a hundred times." Of coarse she has, she is the best friends to both Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. Two boys that are not only meddlesome but also accident prone, this low level healing spell would have been an essential component in my Hermione's arsenal for years.

The cold fear even begins to grip at my heart. Where the initial bites and scratches upon a werewolf are irreparable by magic, any subsequent injures should not face the same predicament. I swallow the lump forming in my throat and set my jaw, determined not to start trembling. "Then, try another one." My voice is cold and curt but when she gazes at me I don't see the hurt that should register on her face, only the beginnings of the same alarm I myself am trying to keep at bay.

She's on her feet and looking through her extensive collection of books within seconds, by the time she has pulled one out, filled with useful healing spells the flow of my blood has halted completely but neither of us can fool ourselves that it is my immediate pain that causes us to be so frantic.

Spell after spell she performs perfectly, all the with same effect, nothing. Not a flicker of knitting flesh, not even pain to signal it had been executed incorrectly. All to quickly the walls are coming in around me as she passes through page after page in her thick tomb, suddenly realising that where I had predicted an advantage, what I have found is the exact opposite, if Hermione is incapable of sealing the smallest of wounds, then I am currently much more vulnerable than I had ever anticipated. What if I were to sustain a truly life threatening injury? It is not impossible nor should it be ruled out. What am I to do then? With no viable means to repair myself but the natural human defences I have been granted since birth.

My willpower gives out completely, long before Hermione's shows any signs of wavering and dimly I call to her. "That's enough." I've seen too much and now I wish I had remained ignorant.

"No." She says reaching down between her bent knees and turning a page. "There has to be something. Anything that works."

"Hermione." I say in a low voice, feeling all fight leave my body instantly. She ignores me and begins yet another spell. "Hermione." I call again and finally she looks up at me tears shining in her eyes and I honestly wish that this could have been something I had concealed. The desperation in her face would have threatened to take my legs from under me had I not been seated. "That's enough." I need no further confirmation and have no desire to spend endless hours pouring over this irrevocable fact.

Her wand drops into the open book and rolls along the page until it is cradled in the spine, both of her hand reaching up to cover her face in an effort to keep the sobs I can see pulling at her shoulders in check. "Oh God." She quietly says and it is the first time I have ever heard her use the phrase. "What do we do?"

"Nothing." I answer instantly, my mind working through all the possible scenarios. Playing them out in my minds eye and not finding anything favourable.

"Madame Pomfrey, she must know spells I don't." She says, her voice rising in tempo with each passing word.

The thought had yet to cross my mind and when the words leave her lips I examine the potential outcome of going to the kind hearted medi-witch. "No." I say after only a moment.

"Jamie…" She begins to speak but I never hear her argument.

My voice cutting her off before she can really being. "She would need to report it, the last thing I need right now is the Ministry knowing about this."

"We could ask her to be discrete."

Slowly my eyes close, constantly I overestimate Hermione's grasp on the political mist that must constantly circle around me. Slowly I begin, trying to convey enough to finally make her understand, to pull her out of her naivety with all things that surround my condition. "I'm a half breed, I'm not entitled to the same level of confidentiality as you." I watch as my words register and much of the blood leaves her face. "She would be required to report this, for that matter so are you."

Indignation clouds her features for a moment. "I'd never…"

For the second time in as many minutes I cut her off. "I know." Fatigue invades me, seeping into my very bones. "I know." I repeat more to assure myself than to put her mind at rest. I drop my forehead down into my waiting hand, pushing my fingertips sharply into my skin. "I need to…" I pause to take a long breath, trying to figure out where I might be able to turn for aid. "Think." I finish trying not to let this feeling of vulnerability conquer me.

"There has to be something." I can hear the rustle of pages at my side.

"Hermione." I say in a low voice. Hoping I might grasp at her attention before her hysteria can push me any deeper into myself than I have already fallen.

The back of the hard backed book rises from the floor only to be slammed back down. "Or a doctor, we could get you a doctor."

I can feel agitation rising along my spine. "Hermione." My voice is only slightly louder but I can feel the growl of irritation rumbling through my chest, passing between my lips with a single word.

"No." She says, she's ignoring me completely and even though in some small part of my brain I know that she is only doing so because of the worry she feels over me. The rest of me finds this fact irrelevant and I know soon I will lose all patience. "How on earth would we be able to have a doctor on call. It's not as if they can even see the castle."

"Hermione!" The last thread on my temper snaps and I feel my voice rise to a loud shout. I hadn't even realised I had moved but my eyes are open and I am breathing rapidly, restraining myself from lashing out with anything but my voice and words. My eyes stare into hers and she recoils from me, falling back onto her hunches in the face of my resounding annoyance.

My jaw clenches so tightly that I am surprised that I do not push it from its hinges. Keeping the hateful comments and scathing words locked tightly behind them. The walls are closing in on me, falling into themselves and trapping me under their weight and immediately I know I must escape. Before I allow myself to do anything that I will never be able to recant.

So without uttering a word I stand, ignoring her feeble sounds of protest and make my way to the door pulling it soundly shut behind me.


	36. Chapter 36: Quiet as the Grave

Chapter 36

I don't even attempt to sleep, I see little point in it and I know I will barely be able to allow my eyes to close. Add that to the fact that the bed is far too short for my lanky frame and I barely even give it a passing glance as I enter my chambers that could once have been referred to as a broom closet, and a small one at that.

Instead I take up residence at my desk, leaning back in the old rickety chair and support my chin on my palm, curling my fingers around my jaw and trying not to think about what I have discovered. Pooling all of my energy into figuring out how I can clamber out of this deep hole I have found myself in.

If I cannot heal myself by magic there must be other means. By that I mean Muggle means. They have survived as a species for as long as us witches and wizards, have so it stands to reason that they have some techniques that can be studied, learned and used to try and curb this vulnerability I have now found myself with. Though I find myself hard pressed to imagine that their methods are in any way superior to ours or we would have taken them on to use ourselves.

I allow the thought to creep into my mind and my eyes to stray to the small healing wound on my left arm, now little more than a patch dried and matted blood. Seconds after my eyes cast across it so do the tips of my fingers, pressing against it and feeling the sting. It's really there, right in front of my eyes, I can feel it.

Without thinking the forming scab slides easily into my fingernail and pulls away from the rest of my skin. Blood begins to bead immediately and I press my thumb into the droplet. Pressing it against my pale skin and smearing it a little and I pull the digit away.

The information is locked within my mind and refuses to be forgotten but still I have yet to realise the true reality of the event. I know that without a viable means to heal my injuries, I am now much more susceptible to lasting or fatal damage. I can process this and the implications. What I am having trouble wrapping my head around is how much my life must change yet again, my perceptions, my preparations for conflict and strife. All must be re-examined, re-evaluated until I have the necessary means to survive.

I find the problem to be like no other I have encountered because it's difficult to puzzle out and really push my mind into finding a solution. Almost all I come up with is magical and must either be discarded completely for filed away in my memory for later examination. The curiosity here is the fact that the potion I brew once a week for the pounding my advanced senses cause in my skull still affects me, still numbs the pain until it becomes almost unnoticeable. So why is it that this form of magic is still an option but every spell Hermione attempted at the tip of her wand fizzled out into nothingness before ever meeting my skin?

Another difficulty I am faced with is exactly how to test the limits that I have apparently been left with since my venture into the forbidden forest all those months ago. Mere minutes ago in Hermione's room I had been under the impression I knew exactly what lines I could cross, precisely where I could go for aid should anything unexpected go amiss. Now? Now every perception I had must be turned on its head or discarded completely. Cast away as utterly useless. Much like the feeling I am quickly descending into.

I make no secret of the fact that I am a fighter, whether with clever tactics or the point of my wand but one way or another I can often land myself in what can be classed as dangerous circumstances. I had always been confident that if things had not gone in my favour I would have an escape, a net of safety erected below me that has always and I thought would always be there. In the magical world it is not difficult to find the attention of a healer. Now for the whole institution to be nothing but a moot point to me is a terrifying notion that not only must I learn to accept and deal with, should the need dictate but also I must conceal it from the rest of the world. Yet another secret, something that can be discovered at any point in time with or without my knowledge, frustratingly personal bodily harm is not something that can be calculated to the finest detail. Cannot be planned for or prepared against, only reacted to.

In what feels like only the blink of an eye I know the day has dawned. Something deep inside of me aware of the sun's gentle climb along the eastern sky.

I remain in my room, barricading myself into my small hole within the castle walls, unready even after a night of restlessness to face the world outside. Making a small meal to break my three-day long fast with some of the non-perishable goods I had taken to Dale's. Glad that I had neglected to throw them away when it became apparent they would not be necessary.

For the entire day I consciously avoid all the people I have become close to in the last few months. Keeping them out of my sights so they cannot feel my eyes upon them and losing myself to the crowds around the school, even at lessons it proves to be far easier then I would have anticipated to stay out of their way. The trick is always in the timing, never waiting outside a classroom for it to begin and making sure that the three are safely in their seats before I choose mine, just far enough away so I can ignore their questioning glances without appearing bad-mannered and just close enough for no one else in the school population to notice the subtle shift.

Hermione's pained expression I expect, I saw her worry, her near frenzy at our discovery. I anticipated seeing the longing to dive into a deep discussion and so it is easy to give the impression of disinterest.

Both History of Magic and Ancient Runes I was able to attend without incident, falling so effortlessly into the lifelong habit of keeping myself company. Defence Against the Dark Arts is another matter however.

As expected Umbridge's bitter tongue and vile expression were upon me from the moment I set foot in her class. I had intended to do nothing. Remain as still as possible and offer polite smiles whenever it was to be considered appropriate. Appearing to be in the possession of as much personality and thought process as the chair I had placed myself upon and merely hope she would come to view me as part of the fixtures and fittings of the castle once more. That has been my intention.

What actually occurred in that lesson was far removed from what I had once envisioned. She had expected me to take my seat as she approached my desk, I could see it in the way her eye level lowered, thinking I would willingly place my head at a lower level then hers. Had I been in the right frame of mind that is exactly what I would have done. However, long lonely hours mulling over my own helplessness left me with something foolish to prove. A secret like this cannot last forever and I wanted, no I needed to have the upper hand when it did come to light. So I remained standing and forced her, with my excessive height to look up at me from her position so close to the floor.

I could feel the sarcastic sneer across my face and know that she would have to accept that was polite smile, for it was as close as she were ever to come.

Her own smile was sickly sweet and as fake as the high-pitched voice she used that grated against my ears. "All the time away, have we forgotten how to sit?" Her tone of voice changes on her final word, taking on that more of a command as one would request of a dog with the promised reward of treats.

That alone set me on edge and my arms crossed instinctively, something I could see in her eyes she took to be a show of disobedience. I had almost been tempted to bark but the sniggers surrounding me from the Slytherin members of the class halted that concept before I would allow it to pass my lips, unwilling to play into the hands of her metaphor. So with the absence of anything clever to say I stood, next to the desk promising myself I would take my seat either when I chose or she regarded me as another human being. Whichever presented itself first, I did not delude myself with any notion it would be the latter.

She made that irritating noise in the back of her throat after many moments and the room feel to silence. I saw Ron elbowing Harry at my display out of the corner of my eye, pointing in my direction as if the Boy Who Lived was not already looking in my direction with a look of curiosity. That's when she turned from me, showing me her back. I cannot tell you if she had intended to incite that I was an unworthy opponent but that was how I read the gesture. My first ever lesson had been to never show your back to someone you perceived as a threat in any way, I cannot even count the times I paid for that mistake.

It made my shoulders tense in a way that I clench on the cusp of battle and I watched her. Looking at that opening and feeling proud that I had restrained myself from reaching for my wand and throwing each and every curse in her direction that I could muster before anyone could stop me. Wondering for only a moment if anyone would warn her, or would they all just sit there in the deafening silence and let me take out my full wrath on this woman, who I admit was not the main source of my irate mood in that very moment but had been the bane of my existence for months.

When she turned to address the class I could see by the way she opened her mouth to speak and then stop that she had expected me to take my seat while she had not been looking. There was a rage in her eyes that I could relate to but I couldn't understand why she had not yet lashed out at me.

She showed me how little she knew of drawing her wand by pulling it from her sleeve and crossing her arms at the wrist down by her waist, threateningly tapping it against the pleats of her skirt. In that simple act she had broadcast to me how much she had failed to notice, my feet spread exactly shoulder length apart and ready to spring to an offensive position with only a moment's notice. My dominant hand held loosely across the other arm so it can be easily manoeuvred into position no matter the circumstances. Had she been trained as I had she would have seen my stance for what it was. A threat.

Her smile took a much more menacing edge and her forefinger pressed against the shaft of her wand in what she hoped to be in preparation for a duel that might very well break out. "Take your seat, Miss Desay." The threat in her voice is much less subtle than what I was showing her, I could have been deaf and still it would have rang in my head like an iron bell.

I know that my face can be very expressive when I give it cause to be. This was one such time. Already her body has told me that she could not best me in battle. The facts are simple, that when pushed a purely violent exchange I will always come out on top. I wanted her to know that, so I openly appraised her. From the tips of her pointed shoes to the top of her bulbous features. When I met her eyes it was clear, at least to her how little I thought of her barely concealed contempt.

I can honestly say I never thought I would see a toad turn so red, especially so quickly. "You…" She took a step forward before composing herself with that short fake cough, making me wonder for the first time if it were some physiological cue to bring herself under control. "Ten points from Slytherin." She said because it was all she could do, I had said nothing, barely even moved all of these witnesses and none of them could say exactly how I had managed to anger this short, power hungry woman to such an extent in such a short space of time.

That's when I did what was quite possibly one of the most foolish things I could think of. I let both of my eyebrows raise. Now it might not sound like much, but in that small action I issued a challenge. I bated her to take it further, I wanted her to step forward and give me an excuse to put her on the floor. Why? Because all of my actions provoked exactly what I wanted from her and it made me feel powerful.

"And a week of detention." She continued, answering my dare with all that she could. In theory I was playing with fire, hoping that I didn't get burned but I rarely do anything drastic without forethought. In truth she could have taken me into custody, right in that moment, for the arrogance I portrayed, for the disobedience but what would she say. I raised my eyebrows? Even for one with her standing, against a sub human entity like me she would have been laughed out of the Wizengamot, of that I was so certain that I was literally betting my life on it. Just to clamber back some of my own self-worth.

I offered her another grin, subtly telling her that at least in my mind I was victorious in this exchange, and then took my seat. Hoping that my thoughts showed plain as day upon my face. My lesson was over; it was time for hers to begin.

Even hours later locked away in the sanctity of my small pokey room that memory gives me a sense of pride. I clambered back some self-respect and quite possibly made the rest my school life much less bearable in the process but right now, in this moment with a victory under my belt it's worth it. All I have to do is remember to stop the sense from going to my head and over stepping the restricting boundaries that have been placed upon me due to my illness.

After that little stunt avoiding most of the student population was as easy as a walk in the park. It took less than an hour for the gossip to spread around the school like wildfire. No one wants to be affiliated with the dangerous little half-breed that tried to take the High Inquisitor down a peg or two. It just wouldn't be safe and as a race we are very astute with self-preservation.

Hermione is proving to be the exception to prove the rule. I have remained out of sight as much as possible and outside of the castle walls but I can smell when she has been present at my door. Her scent still lingering in the air long hours after she has departed, I'm so attuned to it now that I can find it easily amongst a crowd and follow it to its source.

On a lot of levels that is all I long to do. To find comfort in her presence and embrace, but I am fearful and hold no illusions that this is not the case. More fearful than I have been for longer than I can remember, in my life there has always been the threat of pain but also the promise of restoration once it had ran its course. It has become apparent that this is not something that is an option to me anymore and I know that it is toying with my emotions, thoughts, and even actions. My behaviour today is enough of a testament to that and I have no wish to expose someone I hold so dear to this side of me, to the potential harshness of my tongue and violence of my limbs.

Her persistence was expected and even now as I smell her aroma heightening in intensity with each step she takes towards my small chamber. I'm already snuffing out the candle so she cannot see the light beneath the tattered door, trying to drive her away with nothing but my silence because the alternative is much more unpleasant.

I sit still as a statue, quiet as the dead in the inky darkness just listening to her footsteps against the unforgiving stone. Her knock on my door is met by nothing but my cold glare and for many long moments she just stands there, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. Ever patient, always waiting for me to step out of the darkness and join her in the blinding light. One day she will grow tired of it I'm certain.

"Jamie?" She questions through the door and I feel my eyes narrow at the sound of her voice. "Jamie, please open the door." She pleads and I have to wonder if she is merely trying her luck or is truly certain that I sit on the other side of that withered wood listening to her gentle voice calling to me. "I borrowed Harry's map. I know you're in there."

I both hear and feel my teeth grind in irritation. The existence of that dammed bit of parchment had slipped my mind; I can't imagine that it would have taken too much convincing for him to have handed it over to her.

I have no wish to speak to her when I am in this state of mind, still protecting her even from myself. She is quite possibly the only being in existence that can boast such an effect on me.

I have the option of claiming to have been asleep when she ventured down to my level of the castle but we both know I am not the soundest of sleepers. The slightest noise would normally be enough to rouse me. To ignore her further could possibly be, a yet another detrimental action to our relationship, where my outburst last evening should have been enough to have her keep her distance for a while.

I hear the palm of her hand gently touch the ageing wood, the unique crevices in her fingers catching against the protruding grain, followed by the gentle call of "Please." That I have no defence against.

I push a long, breath through my nostrils before sitting forwards on my chair, not even needing to stand to reach out and turn the handle, granting her entrance.

The artificial light from the lit torches invade the tiny space and I have to force myself not to wince against the harshness of it, the glow catches her eyes as they dart around the room and she hastily closes the door behind her, already reaching beneath her robes for her wand to reach out and relight the candle. As we are bathed in enough light for her to be able to see I lower my gaze to the floor, remaining as quiet and collected as I can.

The tips of her fingers touch against my chin and lift my head so she can better see my features. "You look exhausted." She observes and only receives a dark look in response from me. I don't dare to even open my mouth to respond, uncertain what will spill forth if I do. "Jamie, running yourself into the ground that isn't going to be any help to you."

I hold her gaze for a long moment and without speaking turn away from her, letting my eyes focus of the flickering flame illuminating the room. It's not long before I feel the tips of her fingers gazing my bare arm, outlining the small cut placed their yesterday with such precision, still evident on my skin. "We should talk about this." She says after a long pause and I am thankful that after spending such time apart her initial panic as subsided. With nowhere to retreat I truly do not know how I would react if she were to once more descend into hysterics.

The muscles all along my arm clench and I know she can feel it under her fingers. The small nervous gesture is not lost on her and she removes her touch from my skin. Slowly I let my thumb rub along my palm and the base of my fingers offering some slight form of distraction from the topic she wishes to bring up. She may talk all she likes but I still have no idea what will spill forth from between my lips if I were to allow them to part.

"You have to be more careful." She begins in a low voice when it becomes clear that I will not initiate the conversation for her. "Today with Umbridge. If she wasn't out for you before she will be now." I know she speaks the truth and I have contradicted myself entirely with my behaviours earlier in the day but feeling then like I do now I simply couldn't allow the opportunity to slip through my fingers. "There's no denying that you're a little more…" She pauses, searching for the right words and still I can't bring myself to look her way. "Fragile, than we first thought."

Now she has my attention, every iota of it. From the tight knot across my shoulders to the cold ice in my eyes, had she been looking my way she might have flinched but her gaze is steadfastly fixed to the grey bedspread.

Does she truly see me as fragile, weak and breakable? Of course she does, only because it is true. In the face of this fact I feel my heart begin to pound in anger. Never before have I been seen as delicate, not psychically. Not with such a high tolerance for pain and a weak moral code.

The chair creaks from under me as I push against it to stand; the small size of the room dictates that she stands so close to me that I barely have to take a step to be pressed deeply into her personal space. Dipping my head I push my lips against hers, hard, pressing into her until she is forced to lean back against the door for support. I continue to kiss her, pressing further into her, not because I need to, or even because kissing Hermione at times is as natural and essential as breathing but because she lets me. She gives me this part of herself, wholly and willingly, gives me this power to command her body as I see fit.

I don't know why, it's not as if my actions could be classed as romantic in any way but she returns my rough affection, without question or even any form of rejection. Instead reaching upwards to press her warm hands against each side of my neck in a show of complete acceptance. Somewhere in my mind I cannot allow that. My hands claim her wrists in their iron grip, pulling the comfort away from my skin. I don't want her comfort, her compassion, even her affection. I want the power that this can give me, the control over another human being, to bring her body to its highest peak and know that it was my actions that caused it.

The backs of her arms press against the ageing wood with an audible thump and I am certain that the wards I have placed upon it are the only thing holding it rigid beneath both of our combined weight. My teeth touch her lip a moment before the tip of my tongue and obediently she opens her mouth to accommodate it. I have kissed her like this before, carnal and raw but never for the purpose of asserting any sort of dominant role over her, I have no idea if this is how she perceives my movements. If I were being honest I would say that I didn't care. Her submission, her willingness to let me take all that she can give is enough for me to feel the elation running through my chest and all I want is more.

Releasing her hands I place mine lightly over her exposed neck, one thumb resting at the base of her throat, the other only just above it feeling the curve of her windpipe. If I wanted to, I could squeeze the life from her, watch her turn different shades of red and blue, for only a second I tighten my grip, not enough to harm her or even to obstruct her breaths, which are already coming the rapid shallow bursts, but just enough so we both know that I could.

Satisfied that with this small action that I hold her continued existence in the palms of my hands I move on to more pressing matters. Life and death is easy to preside over, now I want her body to quake. To spasm and tremble under my ministrations, to continue life under my terms, my direction.

Both of my palms flatten against her chest, cupping her clothed bosom in my grasp. She gasps into my open mouth and rests her freed hands against my shoulders but makes no further move to touch me so I leave them where they lie.

Her hips press up and into my body, craving friction and release so my hands drop to her pelvis, circling the bones under the pleats in her skirt and push her back, harshly. This encounter will be on my terms. In response to her halted movement my kisses against her mouth become more intense, teeth clattering against teeth and a carnal need over takes me.

With a swift bend of my knees I curl my fingers around her thigh and slowly raise myself to my full height, dragging her limb skywards her only protest is to wrap her arms around the back of my neck to keep her balance. I continue to hike up her leg until I stand at my full height, having the bend of her knee curve over my hipbone. My other hand already blazing a trail along the sensitive skin I find at the inside of her thigh.

The tips of my exploratory fingers meet the barrier of her underwear and immediately I push the elastic to the side to press against the heat at the apex of her thighs. She pulls back from our carnal kisses and meets my eyes for a moment, her hips unconsciously pressing against me with every quick breath she takes.

The back of her head presses against the wood of the door and unblinking and unwavering her gaze meets mine. Fires of passion shining in her eyes where I know that even with such a heated exchange mine must appear almost dead in comparison. I give her only enough time to tell me to stop. Then press deeply into her, watching as her face contorts with pleasure, her back arching and her eyes rolling skywards only a heartbeat before eyelids flutter closed to conceal them. Her mouth drops open with some unintelligible word at the first intrusion and I give her no time to become accustomed to it before I am dragging it away.

The sharp cry of surprise at my thrust could almost be misconstrued as pain but the way she withers against me, presses her hips down at against my harsh movements is enough to encourage it further. Bending my wrist to an awkward angle I press my hips against it, pushing my whole weight behind each quick jab I press against her centre.

Pulling at her leg with one hand and a crashing into her with the other I listen to the noises breaking forth from the back of her throat. With every thrust my fingers curl, more with instinct that actual thought and it's only moments before her body begins to quake, just as I desired.

Bending my neck I press my lips against her neck, concentrating wholly on each and every movement up until the very second she goes rigid. Her hands, which had been aimlessly roaming my shoulders trying to find purchase, clench down through the thin martial of my shirt, nails pressing deeply into my flesh and the cusp of her pleasure breaks with a straggled scream.

One is not enough for me, truthfully it never is. So I tuck my thumb further into her and without having to search find that small node of nerves that can drive her to the brink of insanity in an instant. Another three cries of ecstasy and uncontrollable shudders of her hips and her body goes lax.

Extracting my sodden fingers from her depths and gently placing her leg back to the floor, catching hold of her under her elbows and supporting her weight when I see how unsteady she is on her feet.

I shouldn't have done that. Taken her in that way, with those thoughts and feeling running rampant through my head and I feel the burn of shame covering my cheeks even as she buries her forehead in the crock of my neck to try and regain her breath.

With a fair amount of manoeuvring I have her seated steadily in the thin mattress and I retreat as far away from her as the small space will allow. Curling my fingers against my closed lips until I smell her essence upon them and flinch away.

Its many long moments before she has regained enough control of her lungs to be able to speak and the only words she utters threaten to have me on the verge of tears with the guilt that has so quickly descended upon me. "Are you ready to talk about this yet?"


	37. Chapter 37: Detention

Chapter 37

My eyes close, blocking out the world and I truly wish that I were able to melt into the shadows, which still hug the corners of the room and disappear. Just vanish into thin air and escape her questioning eyes, her prodding words.

"I'll take that as a no." She says, a long sigh is pulled from her chest and the beating of her hearts picks up in both volume and tempo. My teeth clench together in response, she may now be well versed in reading my minimal facial cues but in the past weeks I have taken special note of the noises her body makes when faced with different situations. Every small, insignificant sound my highly sensitive ears pick up on directs me to a single conclusion. She's building courage. Gathering it beneath her breast and all I can do it sit here and wait for the explosion that's sure to come. "Well, I'm ready to talk about this." I have to admit, as sudden outbursts go that was quite subdued.

I am uncertain if I am ready to even open my mouth let alone discuss what has sent me scurrying back into the protective blanket of darkness with much more haste then I had been willing to exit it. I am however completely aware that I must be ready to listen, for Hermione is not likely to let this subject lie.

After a long deep breath to steady myself I turn my head and force my eyes to open, holding her deep brown gaze as the light cast from the single candle flickers across her face making that hard, stern look gracing her features look like pure resolve. "You have to stop running away from me when something scares you."

"I can't." I whisper, having to clear my throat after long hours without use.

Her lips press together into a thin line for only a moment. "Try." The determination in her voice has me wanting to counteract what she says but she can see it pass across my face and cuts me off before I can even begin. "Try. I'm not saying it's going to be easy, or that you'll even like it but at some point you have to realise that I'm here for you." She pushed forward on her perch and reaches out, hooking her fingers around my hand, squeezing it, and somehow that tiny action, that small amount of pressure is nothing but reassurance. "We all are but we can only help you if you let us."

"I don't need any help." I surprise myself with my words, not with their content but the tone I used. All the anger, the frustration, and fear melting away, just with the touch of her hand on mine leaves me numb with a deep weariness that is made evident in my voice.

"Clearly you do." She answers, and having much more vitality that I, pushes a note of purpose behind her speech. "Anyone who attended Defence Against the Dark Arts today could see that."

"Everyone?" I ask, my voice raising an octave in surprise. I had been very firmly under the impression that I had been nothing but subtle in that lesson.

Her shoulders bunch into a shrug. "Everyone in that lesson is either a Slytherin or a member of Dumbledore's Army. I think it's safe to say they all saw that something was wrong." She must see the look upon my face because she quickly continues, "I wouldn't worry. I don't think it's anything anyone can put into words." There's a heavy pause between us, hanging stagnant in the air, only broken when she pulls her upper lip between her teeth, once more gathering courage to broach a subject she thinks I will react badly to. "You're treating this like a death sentence."

My grip on her hand tightens significantly, in anger or terror I am uncertain but before I speak I force myself to take a deep breath, counting quickly backwards from five in my head so I do not begin screaming in her direction. Even with all of these precautions my words sound strained when I voice them. "That's because it is."

She has anticipated the outburst and so doesn't let it affect her. "I managed to survive for eleven years without magic and I got cuts and bruises all the time."

"Cuts and bruises aren't exactly the things I'm concerned with." I tell her in a cutting tone.

"No, I realise that." She says, quickly becoming exasperated with me. "But Muggle medicine shouldn't be discounted just because it works a little slower. Some of the things they are able to do are remarkable."

"A little slower?" I ask, sarcasm dripping from my tone like syrup. She only shoots me a look that tells me I am being childish over the whole matter, it quickly makes me relent. "I know Muggle medicine is my only option and I'll trust that you know much more about it than me but that does not take into account that I don't have access to it."

"My knowledge isn't vast but I do know basic First Aid. I can teach you for now." She sighs, showing me she has been as successful as me in dreaming up a way to transport me to Muggle doctors should the need arise. "As for anything else, we'll think of something. I promise."

"Thank you." I say with a genuine sincerity that feels alien on my tongue. I am the first to admit that it is not often that I willingly accept aid from anyone but on this occasion I must turn to her. She is more knowledgeable and it is the only course of action available to me.

"Don't mention it." She says easily then the whole of her demeanour shifts to that of seriousness. "Now we need to talk about Umbridge. You shouldn't have baited her like that."

"I know." I concede immediately. "I couldn't help it."

"I'd guessed that." She nods her head in understanding. "I don't think it was very clever but I think I know what you were trying to achieve. I'm more concerned with your detentions."

Turning in my seat so I am fully facing her, I warp both of my hands around hers, staring down at it and wondering why that simple contact can have such a profound effect on me. Then pondering how many times I have asked myself that very question, only to forget the comforting feelings such a light touch can give me when faced with my own insecurity. "It's only a detention Hermione. It's not like it'll be my first time." I glance up to meet her eyes with a small smile on my lips, remembering one of the first detentions I ever received so long ago in third year. I had been going to meet her, after hours and had been caught out of my bed by the resident caretaker. It was not long after we had become intimate and I was unable to contain myself. I simply wasn't paying attention to my surroundings and even with his shuffling gait Filch was able to catch me. I now know that she had been able to elude him with the use of Harry's invisibility cloak but she was kind enough to keep me company for the long hours I had spent cleaning the trophies of the school until I could see my face in them.

I had hoped that she might remember that time that feels so long ago but find that she is not as scooped up in the nostalgia as me. Her face is still a hard chiselled line of concern. "This won't be the same. She has a Blood Quill."

Well that certainly puts a slant on things. I lean back in my chair but keep my arms outstretched so I can reach, to run the pads of my fingers along her hand. "You think the wound won't heal?"

She is initially shocked that I am aware of the device but quickly covers the reaction. Surely, on some level she must know that I have been exposed to far darker magic's in my lifetime than a Blood Quill. "I'm more concerned that it won't work at all." At her words I tilt my head in question and she doesn't hesitate with her answer, so anxious to put her thoughts to the air. "I can't use my wand to heal you, so you must be resistant to a certain form of magic. The spells I used, essentially manipulates the skin cells to knit together rapidly. If her quill does the same, just backwards, it's likely it won't have any effect on you."

"She would defiantly notice that." I comment leaning my head to the side so I can push my middle finger against my temple, letting my eyes glaze over with deep thought. I hadn't even thought that I could be resistant to harmful magic as well as rejuvenation spells. It hadn't even crossed my mind. I close my eyes as I let my mind work with this new information. The High Inquisitor is highly predictable, today proved that. "She won't use the Blood Quill on me." I say into the silent air around me.

"How can you be so certain of that?" She asks, and only now do I notice the sound of her gnawing on her thumbnail.

I meet her eyes once more. "There is no way she would risk being that close to my blood."

Her eyes narrow with bewilderment. "But…" She pauses and I can see her thoughts whizzing around behind her eyes as she searches for her vast knowledge for any tangible piece of information that will explain my comment. "Lycanthropy isn't carried in the blood."

"A fact that I only became aware of when I contracted it." I tell her. "Apparently it's a common misconception."

She pauses for a moment, not because she doesn't have anything to say but because she doesn't quite know how to put this development into words. "So you're telling me, that Muggles know more about werewolves, than Witches and Wizards do?"

Her observation does bring a smile to my lips and a chuckle to my voice. "Yes. A fact I'm going to take advantage of. It's true what they say, ignorance is bliss."

"I don't think that's exactly what they meant." She says sharing in the humour that has so suddenly filled the air. "Jamie, I hope you're right."

In truth, so do I.

~~~~0000~~~~

The one thing I have come to appreciate the most from my new friends is how easily they can completely ignore something. My actions yesterday were clearly noticed by all of them, yet not a word, not even a whisper passed their lips in question. Ginny offered me what I assume she thought was a reassuring smile, but quite frankly looked eerily close to the look she wears just before she is to jump into a bout of teasing at my expense. As for Harry and Ron, upon noticing my presence their conversation stopped for only a moment to acknowledge me. Lifting their eyes in question and giving me only enough time to either answer or decline, before returning to their trivial topic of discussion.

That was in fact the height of their inquisition. Everyone acknowledging that there had been something going on, something that affected me in a detrimental way and made me act like a petulant child but no one spoke of it. All of them in their own way showing their interest but respecting my privacy enough to allow me to choose if I should divulge it to them. I hardly need say that I did not. I admit that I am slowly coming to trust these three people but not quite enough to start handing them information that is potentially dangerous for me.

I simply deflected the conversation to a more neutral subject, each and every one of them indicated they had noticed but did not comment. I don't think I am fully able to convey the gravity of these actions in words; to know that I had people around me that I could choose if and when to confide in them. After that moment it was no longer a requirement. They would not pursue me in the hunt for the knowledge. Neither to advance themselves or to push me down as it would have been in Slytherin house. Amongst them knowledge is always power and to conceal it will quickly make you a target. It is so refreshing not to be forced to guard my secrets with as much ferocity as I once had.

Most of the day went by very quickly, I know that I had not quite been feeling myself even after my talk with Hermione and I remained even quieter than usual. It became apparent that people were taking notice when Ginny, with as much tact as she possess took the liberty of asking if Crookshanks had wondered off with my tongue. With, I admit, quite a bit more profanity. It didn't halt my silent mood but did draw my attention to their conversations.

Then as we neared the end of the school day my anxiety began to rise. I have no intention of antagonising Umbridge twice in as many days but without the distraction of a full class I have no idea how much of her focus I will be capable of withstanding without biting back against the scathing comments that are sure to be bubbling just under the surface of her sickly sweet smile.

For this reason I wait until the last possible moment to raise my hand and bring my knuckles down on her office door. In an instant it is opened and I have to look down into her bulbous features. "I very nearly thought you wouldn't be coming." Her voice is as thick and sweet as treacle but I can see the shadow ghosting across her eyes, if I had been late to this detention, the consequences would have been severe.

She makes that high pitched greeting squeak in the back of her throat before pushing forwards out of her office. Obeying the wordless comment I step to the side of permit her to exit, quietly striding behind her at such a slow pace it causes an ache in the backs of my calves and it leaves me wondering how people quite so short don't become frustrated by how slowly they move.

She leads me through the castle, up one staircase and down another, through winding paths until I'm certain she wishes me to lose my bearings, so I cannot find wherever it is she is taking me without an escort. Or the most sinister thought enters my mind that she does not wish for anyone to find me. Two things calm this fear, firstly the knowledge of Harry's map that will point to my location no matter where she takes me. The second is that we have not yet descended below ground level, however if my head were to descend below sea level I am uncertain if I will panic or not.

I am thankful when I can congratulate myself on my own paranoia. On the ground floor, so deep inside the castle that I am unable to see the sunlight through any windows she pulls us into a corridor, which is no longer than six feet deep. The wall completely cut off and there are no doorways branching from this place. The whole set up looks as though the alcove were created to house the large portrait of a fruit bowl that runs from the floor to just above my head.

"Your detentions will be conducted here." She says leaving me to wonder exactly where here might be. She has to press herself forward and push her whole weight onto the tips of her toes, her fingers outstretched towards the painting. "You will report to me and I will escort you heare. In two hours I will come and retrieve you." Her stretched fingers skirt along the pear only once before it is giggling and moving away from her reach, revealing a doorknob. The cheer that spreads across her face makes me want to reach out at throttle her with my bear hands. "Come on."

The doorway is low to the ground but I only need to bend my neck to dip beneath it and one look at the walls is enough to tell me exactly why she chose this over any letting of my blood. A high ceilinged room, mounds of brass pots and pans covering every wall, every work surface. The huge bricked fireplace at the end of the room the main source of light, pans and kettles held over the roaring flame. The kitchens. Lowering me into a place she sees to be for beings that are sub human, the half-breed down with the elves where she belongs.

"Now give me your wand." She say's and I feel my whole back twitch in response. Hand my weapon over to this woman? She can't be serious. But still she stands one hand outstretched and her fingers curling to indicate I should fill her palm. "You won't be needing it."

To refuse is impossible, unthinkable. However the only other alternative is to leave myself defenceless. Slowly, oh so slowly I reach into my back pocket and run my index finger along the handle of my wand. Still deciding on whether to hex her and run or to hand it over, giving her the opportunity to take me down without a fight.

Pulling the long strip of wood from behind my back I am careful not to let the tip stray into her direction, the temptation of that would be far too great to resist, so I don't even look along the shaft, just in case I inadvertently give myself a clear shot.

Just as the timber is about to touch her fingers they flinch, violently and curl in on themselves until her fist trembles. "Is that blood?" Her voice calls out, dragging my gaze to meet hers. Her eyes are unblinkingly staring at the object in my hand and I have to drag my gaze downwards.

The streak of red that has soaked deeply into the grain of the wood was not something that I had paid much mind to after I initially noticed it. It was careless to allow Tamlen's blood to touch my wand but I know that the stain will wear away given time but until this moment I had not given thought to how I could mislead the woman in front of me. "Yeah." I say, keeping my tone of voice offhanded and unconcerned. "I caught my finger in potions." Keeping an attitude of indifference I bunch my shoulders into a shrug. "It's just a stain."

Her eyes may be riveted to the offending strip of crimson but my eyes are on her. Watching her jaw line twitch with nerves and her hands pull against her chest, drawing in on herself and away from the potentially contaminated blood I have displayed to her. It's takes a few moments for her to actually decide exactly how she is going to handle the situation; I can see her thoughts clouding her vision. When I see she has made her decision the reaction is instantaneous, her arm snaps out from her chest her index finger held out to my side. "You, elf. Come here."

I had anticipated the slap of bare fleet against the stone floor, but the footsteps that meet my ears are muffled, almost over powered by the gentle roaring of the fire at the other end of the room. "Dobby is always happy to help." The small elf says, his huge eyes looking up towards the High Inquisitor, waiting on direction.

The stout woman narrows her eyes at the cheeriness in his voice before saying in a slow voice. "Good." She takes a breath through his nose, her nostrils flaring in an almost dangerous manor. "Take this girl's wand."

He makes a small noise in the back of his throat, sounding somewhere between surprise and distress. "But." He pulls one of his huge pointed ears between his fingers, twirling the long digits around the tip. "Dobby is a house elf." He lowers his gaze to the floor as he points out this obvious fact. "He cannot take a witch's wand."

Umbridge's reaction somehow borders on both comical and frightening. Her cheeks puff out giving her yet more attributes of a toad and I swear she turns the colour of a beetroot. Alarmed somewhat that she might just explode; I almost jump to diffuse the situation. Much more comfortable handing my wand over to a creature that does not have need of it I practically thrust it under his long nose, so even as he stares intently on that crack in the floor he cannot miss the gesture. "Its fine Dobby, you can take. Keep it safe." I say, trying to make it sound more like a task and less like a form of reprimand.

Then his eyes meet mine, deep and curious, his mouth ever so slightly agape, even as he takes the wood from my hand and clutches it in his tiny palm. Pulling it closer to his chest looking like he might just curl his whole body around it in a protective cocoon.

Chancing a glance in the professor's direction I can certainly say that I have been able to satisfy her need to disarm me. Her skin returning to its normal colour and she nods her consent. "Very well. There are dishes to be cleaned and the elves have been instructed not to obey you." Clearly that isn't the case, this small creature standing between us, his huge eyes passing from one to the other in a show of complete innocent ignorance just followed my direction and over hers. Her comment leads me to wonder if she even noticed that.

"How long am I to be here professor?" It pains me, truly it does but I try my utmost to be courteous, hoping my question comes across as wishing to repent as opposed to needing to know how long it will be until I can escape.

"Well." She begins, making a show of pausing her speech and spreading that smirk across her face. "Let's say until it's done."

I bow my head as an outward show of respect and understanding, using the action to hide the frustrated grinding of my teeth. Then turn further into the room, following behind the small elf and not daring to meet her eyes again, as I am uncertain I might be able to keep the agitation I feel towards her out of my gaze. At this point that would almost be enough to extend my detentions further.

Dobby pads across the stone floor in his socks. Socks on a house elf. Not just a rag tied to each foot but actual socks. Curious.

He leads me over to a low basin, clearly designed for someone with a much shorter stature than I, yet still too high to suit the needs of the elves that run the kitchens. Wooden boxes have been placed below each sink for them to stand on. A viable mountain of pot, pans and plates stacked in a disorganised pile starts at the floor and comes to mid-way up my chest. It gives me the sense that I could been here for weeks and never complete the task that has been set for me, what's more I know that at each mealtime more will be added to the stack. I have to shake my head to dispel the thought and am suddenly much more grateful for the services provided by this school. Even if the elves are permitted to use magic. "Where do I start?" The words leave my mouth before I can check them.

I can almost hear the smile in the small elf's voice as he answers. "Dobby likes to start from the top."

For just a moment I narrow my eyes at what I perceive to be a sarcastic retraction, until I see his face. The smile he wears is not one of mockery but one of pride. I am in his realm, must defer to his knowledge and this pleases him, yet another strange trait. Clearly it is not just the addition of socks that makes this elf stand out amongst his peers.

"Right." I agree, pulling my robes off my shoulders and find myself surprised that, he is happy to take it from me to hang it against the wall, using one of the pot racks to do so. I pull at the buttons at my sleeves and roll them up my arms. "Best get started then." Subconsciously scratching at the healing mark on my arm before turning the hot tap to full, so I can set myself up for a long evening of shrivelled fingers and back pain.

Two hours I spend in the kitchens, socking and scrubbing plates, listening to the inane chatter of the elf that greeted me. All the others scurried off to attend to anything else they can think of that keeps them away from the strange creature that sits on the rim of the sink, swinging his legs back and forth and chatting away with the strange tall human who has invaded their territory. He doesn't seem to mind that his conversation is one sided; I have little to say on his collection of woollen hats that he has accumulated while cleaning the Gryffindor common room and do little more than glance at his odd socks when he so proudly points them out to me but still I listen. Years upon years of absorbing all the trivial knowledge around me preventing me from doing anything else and I'm certain he can see it. The noises of agreement and proper gestures of my head actual responses to his words not just appropriately timed.

I am rewarded for bestowing him such attention as when I am less than two thirds of the way down my seemingly never-ending pile he snaps his fingers and the plates begin to fly into the bubbles and start cleaning themselves. "I don't think you're supposed to be helping me." I admit my reprisal is half hearted at best but if I have to spend one more moment hunched over this sink I feel certain I will forever be left in that pose. Which doesn't exactly make me look very menacing.

He grins so wide he shows me his small white teeth. "Professor Umbridge insisted that Dobby not obey any commands from Miss Jamelia Desay." No matter how many times I ask or send a dirty look in his direction, he steadfastly refuses to stop using my full given name. "She did not say he could not volunteer his services."

"Very sneaky." I commend and as I reach for the towel to dry my hands I have to wonder if my complement had as much of an effect on him as it would have on me. "You couldn't have just done that when I got here?"

"Then who would Dobby have spoken to?" The curiosity in his voice is only overshadowed by the sorrow in his eyes.

"So the other elves…" I begin, shocking him to the core by pulling out a chair and taking a seat. A term I use very lightly, as all of the furniture has been designed for much shorter beings than myself, I practically fall into it and it is possible that I would have been more comfortable setting myself down on the floor. "They're avoiding you. Not me?"

He pushes his hands against the edge of the sink, lifting his body and jumping down to the floor, leaving the dirty plates to clean up after themselves, completely unattended and bows his head. "Dobby is strange to them."

Somehow, and I'm unsure exactly how, I manage to suppress the urge to point out that Dobby is strange to me. "Because you're free?"

He shakes his head and his huge bat like ears, flap back and forth with the movement. "Because he likes it."

For just a moment I sit and stare at him. While personally, the notion of losing my liberty and bowing to any man has me shaking right down to my boots I know the same cannot be said for house elves. So many times my youngest sibling would ask the elves that attended us why they continued to serve. Their answer was always the same. They felt safe. Not just serving witches and wizards but knowing, categorically exactly where they belonged. For any elf to turn on that mindset is mind boggling to me. "But you still serve." I eventually point out.

That sentence alone makes him smile. "Dobby likes to help."

I glance over his head where his magic is still whizzing through the task that I had been agonising over for hours and would be long into the night without his aid. "I can see that." My head swivels as I hear the undeniable sound of glass, chinking along the stone floor. "What was that?" I try to rise in a graceful manor, quickly discovering that at this angle, my knees are not in any sort of position to be able to drag me upright and end up in a crumpled heap on the floor.

The fumble gives Dobby enough time to scamper his way around me and block my way into the adjoining room. Even though when I pull myself up to my full height I tower over him something stops me from simply barging my way past to investigate. "Miss Jamelia Desay must be exhausted." He says, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice and failing miserably, his body betraying him further as he spreads his tiny frame wide in a bid to keep me away from the curious noise.

He's not wrong, not by a long shot, my bones in the base of my back ache and many of my muscles hurt from the odd angle I have had to hold myself at, all of this combining to make me weary but my curiosity is peaked and proving difficult to ignore. "What are you hiding?" I ask.

That one question proves to be a large miscalculation. "Dobby hides nothing." He says with indignation and I swiftly realise that offending him is not the way to let me in on whatever he is keeping from me and possibly the rest of the house elves. "He would never, could never…"

Holding my hand out in a move halfway between surrender and instance I cut off his tangent. "Alright." Clearly this form of questioning is making him distressed and it would be unwise to antagonise my only ally when I have another six evenings to spend in the kitchens. "Dobby isn't… I mean…" At some point throughout the course of the evening his speech pattern has gotten so ingrained into my head that I'm almost thinking in third person. "I mean you're not hiding anything."

His mouth opens, as if to protest further and as my words dawn on him he does little more than utter a squeak. "Well…" He looks dazed and confused that I would agree with him so readily and has no idea how to continue.

"Perhaps…" I begin, one again diffusing something I had no intention of instigating in the first place. "It would be best if I left." I say promising myself that I will get to the bottom of this mystery before the week is out.

Almost as if the snap of my fingers would make it so, he all but forgets how I had offended him, clutching his long pointed ear in his fingertips in a gesture I am beginning to associate with him. "Perhaps." He speaks the word slowly, contemplating exactly what it is he wants to say. "Will Miss Jamelia Desay be coming back to see Dobby?"

"Oh defiantly." I say, wondering if he is toying with me or if he genuinely doesn't understand the nature of my punishment. "I'll be here all week."

His smile lights up his whole face. "This pleases Dobby." He reaches into his clothing and pulls forth my wand, holding it out on his out starched palm for me to take.

With yet more promises to return the following night I am slowly ushered from the kitchen back out into the hallway, left with the strange sense that I have made a friend and barely been detained at all. That is with the exception of the constant protest in my lower back.

The bed in my personal quarters is much too small for me to be able to sleep while in this state, so I know that I will inevitability have to make my way up to the northern tower. Not something I am adverse to in any way but it would be better if I had a draft of my pain potion to hand. Not only if this pain proves persistent but I also have a full two hour block of Potions tomorrow evening and I am still having trouble adjusting my senses to that particular lesson.

I had the full intention of simply poking my head through the door to collect what I needed and quickly making my way up to Hermione's rooms but as I turn to curse at the door that I have still yet to repair an envelope on the floor catches my attention. My father's seal pressed into the wax that holds it closed.


	38. Chapter 38: Between the Lines

Chapter 38

All forms of pain and any thoughts of sleep are completely forgotten in an instant, the new arrival forcing me to step into the room and close the door behind me. Without moving it, without even touching it I move over to the bed and take a seat, my eyes never leaving that small indentation in the hard wax.

The notion that he could have nothing to actually say to me and just wishes to send through the post his latest form of punishment, has me at the height of cautiousness. The letter could simply explode the moment my skin touches it, although I see little point in that. I would loose a hand certainly but not my life and what's more he knows I wouldn't be that stupid. So the point of this is to correspond, but why? To what end? He's already made it abundantly clear he has no wish to see me as his daughter any longer so I don't know what he would have to say. I don't know if I even wish to see what has been written. I've made my bed and I will lie in it for as long as Hermione will allow me to. Nothing he can say could change that, in either written or verbal form.

The moments drag on as I sit and silently stare at the offending piece of paper. Not wishing to read it but still trying to convince myself I already know what is written upon the page. The man at times can be so predictable it's embarrassing, although I hadn't realised how simple it had once been, when I had all of the variables of his existence stored away in my brain. Waiting to be called upon whenever it was needed.

I take out my wand, twirling it in my fingers, under and over and around, time and time again. The action settling my racing heart, albeit only mildly bit enough for me to still my mind enough for me to begin deciding on my course of action. The most prudent thing I could do is dispose of it, set it aflame and watch the embers burn, forget I ever received it but a single question nags at me. Making me stop and think, forgoing the violence even if only temporarily just to ponder the notion. How on earth did it end up in my room?

Owls are clever creatures to be sure, but to push a letter under a doorway in the most tightly warded building in the country? A preposterous thought. Human hands placed this here. Several names spring to mind, none of which are pleasant. Who it would be matters little, why he would go through a third party interests me more. For secrecy maybe, or impact. To receive a letter at the breakfast table I wouldn't even bat an eyelid as I incinerated the unopened note, but this, this is different.

Twisting my wrist I point my wand at the parchment, silently using as many spells as I can think of to insure it will not harm me in any way and find it clean of curses. Absolutely nothing, which in itself is an oddity. So many times he would send me cursed letters, just so I would always remember to check, yet another thing grasping at my attention and screaming against being ignored, just as it was designed to.

Before I can change my mind I snatch it up off the floor, turning it over in my hands once to find that it has not been addressed, not to me, not to anyone. Curiosity wins over paranoia and with just a little pressure the seal breaks and I am pulling it apart. All at once eager for parental attention, good or bad it doesn't matter; so long left out in the cold and suddenly I need this. One way or another I need to know what it is that is so important that he went to such lengths to make sure that I would take note of his words.

Jamelia,

I have recently been informed that some of your current circumstances have much more lucidity than is first apparent. Don't miss understand….

Stop.

Silently I scream that word, it bounces around my head louder than even Ammy could yell, if she ever shows up again and I force my eyes to close.

Two things stop me, firstly my father was undoubtedly about to say something highly detrimental and on a lot of levels I need to distance myself from his scathing words before my eyes scan across them. Remove the sting before it can cause me harm. Secondly, the whole correspondence is written in the mother's hand. To all the world it would look as though they were solid, together in the thoughts written on this single page. Between his words and her hand it is supposed to make me truly believe that they think as one. But I know better.

My mother is quite frankly a master when it comes to words. She can spin a tale for days on end. Most notable is her tale of Perseus and Medusa. A three day cycle of the story to correspond with the stars. The 'Demon's Head' would always become visible to the naked eye just as she finished her story. As if she had called forth the light from the heavens herself with each retelling. A skill I have no hope of possessing.

She can transfer this to the written word. Often leaving me messages hidden inside the text, which has been overviewed and subsequently approved by my father. So I need to stop, and I can practically hear her speaking against the shell of my ear. Telling me not to read what is in front of me, to read what it is she intended me to see. To find her meaning within the lines.

So completely ignoring the linear order of the text I slowly run my thumb down the left most edge of the page, running it down vertically and picking out the first word of each line. It reads 'I don't trust him, be careful. We still love you.'

The paper crumbles between both of my hands and I push the curve of each thumb deep into the corner of each eye. The message is short as it must be, if my father exceeded a page in a personal correspondence, even if she had written it for him it would be cause for alarm, but it's enough.

My disorder, the people I now choose to surround myself with, hasn't damaged my relationship with the fairer of my parents, not nearly to the extent that I had feared. Until this moment I had no idea how much of a weight that was upon my shoulders. How scared I was that she would never look upon me as a mother does a daughter again. Or even how important that is to me.

With this brief message in mind I begin to read over my father's words a second time, eyebrows rising further skyward in surprise with every sentence. My father is quite possibly the only person I know who can be so degrading and commemorative within the same instant. Not once does he admit fault for his recent actions. Not a single word of apology but if he had I'm sure it would have rung hollow with me.

However he offers truce, the same offer made by Draco all those months ago surrounded by snow. Protection from the followers of the Dark Lord by betraying those closest to me, Lucius must have more need of the information they request than I had first thought.

The initial talk of this had been months ago, so much has happened since then. What's more the recent events surrounding me do make the offer a tempting one.

Not for the first time I wish that I had enough ground available to me so I might pace. There is so much to consider and it is impossible to do so while seated. So after carefully folding the note and concealing it in my robes I pull at my door with much more vigour than is strictly necessary and decide on a slightly longer route to the northern tower than is customary.

The timing of this letter is just so perfect. Too perfect. Just as I slowly realise how fragile my body truly is since that night in the forest, just as I begin to feel completely powerless; this lands right at my feet. Does he know? That is a sobering thought. That he could know how little it would take to destroy me, and no magic will have any effect, nothing to stand in his way. So he offers me an olive branch, knowing that I have no choice but to accept.

It's ridiculous; there is no way he could know. Outside of Hermione and myself no one is aware of this. Even if someone were to see the small incision on my skin no one would think anything of it. A trivial wound left to heal of its own accord. I have also been very studious to wear sleeves for most of the time, so perhaps he's just lucky but something in my mind refuses to accept that as an answer.

Then of course there is the warning from my mother to consider. She could have worked any number of messages into that page but she specifically told me to be careful. Not to refuse, simply be cautious. Does that mean she trusts in the decision I make regardless as to what that might be? Or to accept but simultaneously safeguard myself?

So many things to consider, so many variables all running through my mind, looping round at such a speed and to such an extent that when I reach Hermione's doorway my head is almost spinning with all the possible outcomes.

I don't even think as I depress the door handle. I can hear her pottering about and see the light from the candle under the door but still I just walk in. I don't prepare my face; I don't wipe it blank along with the multitude of thoughts buzzing around in my cranium. Yet I am still surprised when I she asks, "Is something wrong?"

As I sharply look up I know it to be a mistake. Every thought is passing across my face, in plain sight for her to see. To wipe it clean now would be suspicious, so instead I opt for a tactic I have never used before and acknowledge my slip completely. Offering her a tight-lipped smile I shake my head at her question. "Just back ache."

The concern and confusion clouds her features in an instant as she pushes herself up off the floor, where she has created something that looks akin to a nest on her bedroom floor. Books open on top of books, covering nearly every spear scrap of floor space. "Your back?"

I shrug with nonchalance. "Kitchens, cleaning dishes."

"Oh." Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise at my answer. "Well that could have been worse."

"Would have been better if the sinks were just a few inches higher." I know that I am playing this exaggeration over my physical state for all that it is worth but no one can deny that is it proving effective in distracting her from any other form of questioning. Slowly as not to place my feet on any of her precious book I tip toe over to the bed and immediately remove my shoes from my aching feet. "What exactly are you doing?" My eyes stay glued to the mess that she has created, trying not to draw attention to the fact that it is so out of character.

She steps over the circle she has made with the open tomes and takes her seat in the centre. "Researching." She watches my face as she answers and I'm certain I don't give her any reaction, far to weary from long hours of labour and distracted by the letter practically burning a hole in my pocket. "I figured that we'd tried all the conventional methods of healing. It was time to look for something abstract."

Lifting my elbow above my head I stretch out my shoulder before cupping the back of my neck in an attempt to work out the knots that have settled under my skin. "Any luck?" I should feel something more, anger maybe at her not accepting my situation, or elation that she would continue to try in the face of so many failed attempts. Right at this moment all I can feel is tiered and I would sleep quite fitfully for at least a week.

"No." She says after a small pause, deflating somewhat under the admission. "Everything seems to work the same way. Just different forms of execution."

I had expected as much, dark magic is much the same. "I thought you were going to teach me this… aid thing." I say.

"First Aid and I will. But having something else couldn't hurt. The potion for your headaches works, it makes sense that there must be something else that does." She stops to watch me push the tips of my fingers deep into my eyes, trying to keep them open. The initial surge of panic I felt down in my own rooms evaporating and leaving me exhausted. "I'd like to finish up a few things. Do you think you could sleep with the lights on?"

"I think I could happily sleep through an earthquake," I reply, palming a yawn.

She leans over her books to retrieve my sleepwear and after it is safely in my hands her eyes turn back to the knowledge laid out around her. Losing herself in the written word, leaving me to turn over and promptly fall to sleep. Determined to tackle the newest development with fresh eyes in the morning.

~X~

When the sun rises I'm already awake, waiting for the predawn. Body rejuvenated and mind a buzz with activity. No matter how much I tried I couldn't bear to leave the bed, just watching the sleeping figure lying next to me in the inky darkness.

I can't defend her, not as I once could. Before when my blood could spill and we would be able to stop it with an uttered word. Now it will take time and who is to say that we will be able to stem the tide once it has begun.

Slowly as not to wake her I reach out, fingers ghosting across her skin. She shifts but only further into the touch. So trusting of something that can and has turned so vicious.

My father's offer is not something he readily approves of. Someone higher up the ranks is tugging on his puppet strings and he must be learning that without me to smooth the way my means of his superior's others' offspring that he must obey all commands. That much is plain from the words he uses. Now all I have to do is figure out a way to include Hermione in this protection. She has become as close to me as my own flesh and blood, I'll be damned if I leave her to the wolves when all they want to do is rip her apart.

If I do this, I'll lose her. That much is set in stone. Not right away, I need to be close to her to live up to my side of the bargain but the moment she finds out she'll be gone forever. All I can hope to do is keep her safe, something my body will no longer allow me to do but my actions can. Especially if I go as close to the top as I have access to, I also know that I can set wheels in motion without fully committing to them, put down demands that are unlikely to be answered favourably.

Even with all of this in mind, when I press a kiss to her forehead, silently I am beginning to say goodbye to everything I have gathered in this room, every scrap of emotion that she has pulled from me as she brought this cold husk back from the grave.

Waking so early does have its advantages. I am able to put my plan completely in motion before any other student is awake and wondering about the castle. My first stop is to the Owlery, a scribbled note already clenched in my palm, handwriting deliberately rushed so the recipient will open the letter without thought. Having never actually progressed into the building with such advances senses I feel lucky that I only emptied the contents of my stomach once on the journey.

The rest of the time I spend clearing my head, ambling around aimlessly and trying to force myself back into a mind-set that I so spectacularly failed at when I ventured to Dale's home, after the first kind word spoken to me. Although I have to conceded that kind words are not exactly something that I foresee, so at least this time I might be able to hold onto the mask for as long as it is necessary.

All through breakfast I am clipped and quiet, luckily over the past few days this has been my manner. They barely give me a second glace and leave me to my personal musings. Even Hermione does not press me about the barely touched plate in front of me. The moment the post arrive my eyes are riveted to the Slytherin table. I have already located that crop of white blond hair, long before I even took my seat. All but ignoring Strix as he lands on my shoulder, waiting for the moment it dawns on him exactly what is in his hands. Malfoy's cold grey eyes meet my icy blue, right across the room and amongst so many we might as well be alone in a tiny space, screaming at each other what is it we want to convey.

The communication is brief to say the least; he finds my eyes, holds them for a heartbeat and nods. That's enough for me to return to my table, in sprit as well as in body. Handing the bird at my shoulder a strip of bacon for his trouble, he takes off not long after that, either reading my mood or having someplace better to be. Either way I am able to silently slip the dispatch from Dale into my pocket without opening it, uncertain that if I read his messy script if I will still be able to go through with what it is I have planned.

The first half of the day goes by in an almost blur of contemplation, strategizing, and predictions. The lessons are usually painfully easy anyway, I have little need to engage my brain unless it is called upon directly. The hour lesson before lunch I have to myself so I make my way to the prearranged meeting place and take a seat. The Astronomy tower I knew to be unoccupied at this time of day, I am certain Professor Sinistra does not even rise from her bed if the stars are not shining in the sky. Midday is the perfect time to be here if you do not want to be disturbed.

I can hear him ambling up the stone steps the moment he begins to ascend. My keen ears tell me he is alone and this fact does surprise me somewhat. What tale could he have spun to his two bodyguards to allow him to confront the resident creature alone? When he passes through the doorway he finds me seated, side on to the large arched window, my feet up on the sill and looking down at the grounds below. A single fingernail pressed between my teeth, still thinking, still trying to talk myself out of this course of action.

"You're alone." He observes, coming further into the room.

Without looking in his direction I move my hand so my chin is pressed against a lose fist. "As are you."

He was always one to be the centre of attraction so to gain this of me he leans against the wall right at the edge of my field of view. A smile of pure smugness spread wide across his features. "Surprised?"

"I'd be lying if I said no." Slowly I turn my gaze to fully regard him and his relaxed attitude to being alone with me. "I had begun to think, you three were attached at the hip."

"That's almost funny Desay." He raises both of his eyebrows once in place of actual laughter, somehow I have truly amused him but his upbringing will not allow him to show it as others do. "What's all this about?"

I'm astonished that he is unaware of what would cause me to arrange something like this but I am careful not to let it show upon my face. Reaching into my robes I take out my father's letter and hand it to him. To his credit he only hesitates for a second before opening it to read, the side of his mouth lifting into an easy smile with each passing line. He snorts to himself as he folds it closed. "Never thought the old man would be able to do it."

"So Lucius is behind this?" I say, trying to make it sound more like a statement of fact than a probing question.

Slowly he begins to nod, reaching out and turning a chair around so he can take a seat. "My father has been hassling yours for months now. They are both being quite stubborn over the whole thing. I kept telling my parents that there was no point, you'd never go for it anyway." His eyes narrow in my direction and holding the parchment in two fingers he offers it to me. "But I think you might be about to prove me wrong."

"And you never like to be wrong." I say reaching out and retrieving the note, opening it and running my thumb down over the words 'Be Careful' reminding myself to do just that.

"I do when it benefits me." With a short sniff and a touch to his nose he sits back on his chair, running his eyes over me and apprising me. "What changed your mind?"

When I find his eyes he hold my gaze, even as he sees me searching him trying to claw into his mind, even though we both know I could never wrap my mind around legilimency no matter how I tried. I must rely on his body not his thoughts. He gives no indication that he is aware of the reduction in magical effects on me. Not even a whisper in his eyes, only genuine curiosity. "Circumstances have changed."

At that he does laugh, a single bark and highly subdued by anyone's standards. "Is she not giving you what you need anymore?"

I feel my eye twitch without my consent at such a comment. I have to refrain from screaming right into his smug face exactly how good my love life can be in the dwindling hours of the night but I know it would be better to let him think this. That I no longer crave her touch and affection or she no longer gives it. It doesn't matter what he thinks as long as he does not know the truth, does not think me weak. "Circumstances have changed." I repeat, and from that short sentence he knows I will not go into detail. Not that he had expected me to anyway.

"Fine keep your secrets, I have no use of them anyway." And now he downplays exactly why we are here. My secrets are all he is interested in. "So you can pass all of your information to me and…"

"No." I say sternly. "I'm not here to agree to these terms. I'm here because I want more then you're offering."

His composure nearly breaks and I can see the fury bubbling beneath the surface. "You'll get what you're given half-breed."

"Then you will not get what you want." I answer, remaining as calm as I am able. Hoping that I haven't misjudged this situation.

His face pulls into an ugly sneer and he is once more up from his seat, pacing the floor with his hand running over his chin in thought. "What more could you want? Playing up to that side, protection from this one. You do this and you're untouchable. What more could you possibly want?"

"Hermione." I answer. My only demand, I had thought of having my family removed from the father's care but fear what would befall them if the request were to reach his ears before it could be enforced. Once I am back in that house I will be able to do more to defend them, right at this moment my beloved is all I can secure through this negotiation.

He laughs again, this time mockingly. "As a pet? Sure if she's still alive."

Although I remain in my seat, slowly counting backwards from ten my mind plays out scene after scene of utter violence. Breaking his neck with my bear hands, chocking the life from him and watching his face slowly turn blue. How it is that I don't act upon these thoughts I will never know but somehow I manage to calm myself. "You misunderstand me." Slowly I rise to my feet, tempting fate by stepping closer, within arms reach knowing that if I were to strike him that would be the end of this. "She has to have complete immunity. He must promise…" I begin and we both know I speak of the Dark Lord. "that no harm will befall her. Neither in his vendetta against Harry or his campaign against muggle-borns. What's more I want it written in His hand signed by His blood."

"You'll never get that," He says with a dismissive gesture of his hands. "She's a mudblood for crying out loud."

"She's also a deal breaker." I say, sticking to my guns. "If you can't guarantee her safety you'll get nothing from me."

"Is she really worth all this?" He asks his face showing his disgust and distain. "She's barely even human and you'd put your life on the line for that."

"She holds more humanity than you and I combined. There is no point trying to dispute that." Once, not so very long ago, I believed exactly as he does. Yes, I had loved Hermione for years but she was always further down the evolutionary ladder, it was something I never dwelled on, fearful of driving myself to insanity. Thinking myself in circles and never able to come to a positive outcome. Somewhere along the line my perspective shifted, only ever so slightly but enough for me to see things in a different light. No longer so disgusted with myself for no longer being human, being pure. No longer cautious of the Gameskeeper because of his giant blood. Consorting with elves and centaurs without pause for thought. When did that happen and what caused it?

He doesn't argue with me, not with souls as black as pitch, it's pointless. We were always going to give up our humanity for the cause. For others to stand in the light we had cleared. Now all I can do is try and claw some of mine back. Piece by agonising piece. "I can't promise you that Desay. You know I can't."

"Well," I take a breath, glad that we have been able to at least remain civil. "Don't come back to me until you've got it."

He looks at me for a long moment, scrutinising every twitch, every breath. Just to see if I will budge, if I will cave and take only what has been offered to me. When he shakes his head I know he has his answer. Without a word he stalks off and I let my shoulders sag with fatigue. How on earth did I manage to keep up that state of mind indefinably? It's utterly exhausting.

My stomach beings to churn and I have to remind myself that I have not commented myself to anything yet. I have laid down a condition and even if it is met I can still refuse. But still it keeps on turning, over and over again until it's almost spinning and I very nearly lose my footing on the spiral stairs. At the first opportunity I duck into a bathroom turning on the cold tap as high as I dare, cupping my shaking hands under the spray and letting them fill before bringing it to my cheeks. Twice I do this before I am forced to press the back of my hand against my mouth to physically push down the deep sense of nausea that has settled across me.

Closing my eyes I reach out to shut off the ice cold water. Leaning forward only to glance out into the world, met with only my own reflection, a sight that sickens me down to the core. "Am I doing the right thing?" As I speak so does the image of me, a hollow representation of nothing but myself. There is no wolf, no presence behind my eyes, no second opinion that, once I would disregard and wish it had never been offered, now I would give my left eye for. "Where are you Ammy?" Never before have I felt so lonely, so cut off and so helpless. My own council always used to be enough. Guilt was never taken into account, never even recognised and now I need validation. Something, anything but I am only met with silence.

My fist strikes the porcelain in frustration and all at once every ounce of energy is drained from every muscle in my body lowering me down to the cold tiled floor. Where I draw my knees close to my chest and bury my face between them. Silently calling for the wolf that at one time wished to aid me in times like this and now leaves me in unbearable solitude.


	39. Chapter 39: The Single Flame

**Chapter 39**

_I'm sure there are many that have experienced the irrational fear of the dark, or at least what many perceive to be irrational. I assure you it is not. Darkness is stagnantly violent and silently volatile. All consuming, swallowing up every speck of light until nothing can be seen. For most it is the unknown, the slightest malicious whisper carried in the wind, a groan, maybe of pain, maybe not but the indecision and the unidentifiable, the chaos that your own imagination will create, that is what causes most to flee in terror._

_It's worse when you know, without looking, without seeing exactly what caused that frightening noise deep in the inky blackness that surrounds you. To have been exposed to moans of agony for so long that even without sight you know if a victim is bleeding or not. Just by the tone of their voice._

_It never used to frighten me. Not when I was part of it, adding to it piece-by-piece and revelling in every sound. I would cling to it, hold it tight and wrap it around me. Gleefully suffocating in it. It never once accrued to me how much terror it could strike into my heart until I tried to run from it._

_Now, somehow, somewhere, I find myself surrounded. The absence of light so tyrannical that not even my own hand can be seen in front of my face, all around me the sounds of fear, pain and woe echoing, everywhere. Louder than I ever remember them being, filtering through the high walls I have built in my mind as if passing through air._

_It's the guilt that hits me first, that strange emotion I so rarely felt before, tightening my chest until I can barely breathe. The more it mounts the louder the voices become. The gloom all around me, enraged behind measure that I had dared to attempt escape, that I had the nerve to try, just try and step out into the light, even if just for a moment. It bombards me with the echoes of screams, reminding me what I am, what I must always be if I wish to escape the crippling remorse that its absence will leave behind._

_The brightness, when it finally appears is almost blinding in intensity and in the first moment I physically wince away from it. So accustomed to the concentrated shade that this sudden assault on my senses is almost too painful to withstand. It's only through my own determination and the terrifying rattle of chains the darkness suddenly adds into the screams that force me to look along the shaft of light. Following it wherever it may lead because it must be better, must be more peaceful because there is no way it could be worse._

_What I find along that shaft of light is surprising to say the least, the circular table is waist height and ornate in appearance. The three clawed feet inlayed with gold flecks, travelling up the single central leg and passing across the small table top in a spider's web of oak and precious metal. Glistening in the light of a single candle that rests at its centre, gently flickering._

_Such a curious sight: that solitary flame, standing proud against the shadows, in such stark contrasts that it burns brighter than the sun. As I approach the lone piece of furniture that is visible I can feel its warmth, soaking into me, dimming the screams into manageable moans. Single handily pushing out the darkness not just from my surroundings but also from within my very soul._

_Without thinking I reach out a limb, fingers outstretched, wanting, no needing to touch the source of something so magical, so miraculous that it can literally drive away the inky blackness that surrounds me. As if just one touch, one glace of my skin across it would chase it away and leave me free, indefinitely. I know the flame will burn, my skin will crack and peel but it is a small sacrifice for what is being presented to me._

_Only I am never permitted to make such an offering, something unseen in the darkness, skimming along the floor, stronger than the rays of light and anchoring itself to my ankle. With one swift tug I loose my footing, forgoing my quest to touch the flame and instead concentrating on keeping myself upright. My arms fly wildly and after my temple connects with the ornate table I am pulled to the floor. Landing face first and feeling every breath of air pushed from my lungs on impact._

_The screams double in volume, my own added to it as I reach and grasp and claw at anything that will give me purchase. First the table and then the smooth floor, all pointless, all my struggles not even delaying the enviable as I am dragged, kicking and screaming back into the darkness._

~X~

When I wake the force of my fright throws my body into a seated position. My own terror and anguish lodging in my throat, in such a wide knot that I am unable to draw breathe, heart rate picking up to an alarming rhythm because even with my eyes so wide the dark is still here still surrounding me. Even outside of my dreams it follows me, waiting for opportunity to drag me back.

It takes a second but I start to notice things, my highly sensitive eyes picking out the shape of a desk, neatly piled books and parchment littering its surface, the high window allowing me to see the presence of night, not the figurative darkness that haunts my sleeping hours. It's only when I realise this that my chest uncoils enough to breathe.

Fingers find my hair to discover it is drenched in sweat and the heel of each palm digs deeply into each of my eye sockets, trying to press away the vivid images that drove me out of my slumber.

I want to scream. I can feel it coiling in my stomach, winding along my spine begging for release but already I can hear Hermione's steady breaths becoming uneven and to begin shrieking will do very little to ease her concerns over my well-being. Swallowing it down does nothing to ease the tension in every one of my muscles so when she touches me I feel myself flinch.

"Sweetheart, you're shaking." Just like that she's awake. Pulling herself behind me to wrap her arms around me, her chin resting on my shoulder and her chest plastered to my back. Patently waiting for me to calm within the comfort of her arms, somehow knowing the precise moment that she can whisper in my ear, "Bad dream?" without fear of me retreating clear across the room.

The concept of lying filters through me and in less than a second I have ten, all poised at the tip of my tongue waiting to be chosen. In the end what's the point? Where will it lead? Another argument? I don't have either the willpower or the patience for that in this moment. So instead I drag my hands down my face and cross my arms over my raised knees with a quietly uttered, "Yeah."

Softly she places her lips behind my ear and I feel myself relax, just a fraction. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

Tell her? Tell her what? That to keep her safe I would betray her trust and not only do I feel the weight of that decision in Morpheus' realm but so far in every waking moment since I set those wheels in motion. "No, not really."

She doesn't push me any further, just sighs deeply and begins to run the backs of her fingers along my bare arms. Not sounding at all disappointed, as I had expected, more that she is at a complete loss as to how to continue. "Is there anything I can do?" She says completely proving my theory.

When I turn my head to face her, just to see if she can be so blind that she can't see what effect this small contact is having on me. The answer is yes, blinded so entirely by her concern. "You already are." The very tips of my fingers glances along her cheekbone until I cup the side of her face in my hand, drawing her closer to slowly encase her lips in mine. Just feeling her warmth seeping into me and that light, that single flame that was so unobtainable in my dreams now made flesh. Nothing able to stop me now from reaching out and touching it, letting it burn right into the heart of me.

When I draw back and find her eyes with mine, I can barely contemplate losing her. Especially willingly. There has to be something I'm over looking and right now I would take anything in place of the plans I have already made because if I continue down this particular road I doubt I will ever sleep fitfully again. Not having been this close to the warmth she radiates and the brightness in her eyes. "I think I'm going to take a walk." I say slowly.

Her face melts into one of utter disbelief. "It's not even five o'clock yet. This doesn't even qualify as an actual time of day."

"Which is why you should go back to sleep." With one last brush of my fingers of her features I turn and pull myself up to my feet. I don't have a plan, not even an idea to work from. I know I need some form of inspiration and have only one place left to turn. Somewhere she cannot follow, not because I don't want her to but because I have always approached my gods so directly, while in complete solitude. I don't know how to worship any other way and considering how rare it is that I turn to them so completely it would hardly be helpful if I were to anger them by bringing along a guest.

Hermione falls back to the pillows, pushing her hands under her cushion and watches me dress in the half-light of the room. I am just stepping into my trousers when she chooses to speak, already slowly drifting away, back her to dreams. "Will I see you at breakfast?"

"Yes," I answer distracted by my fly. Honestly after so many years you would think I would be able to perform that task without thought. "I'll have already eaten but I'll be there."

That pulls her back into our realm, now confused by my words and leaning up on her elbows to scrutinise me. "Where exactly are you going?"

I pull my robes over my shoulders then carefully lift a small tin box from between my folded clothes. Running my palm over it once, in respect and remembrance before tucking it away safe and sound in my pocket. It's only then that I give her my full consideration, tucking a leg beneath me as I take a seat on the bed. "Can I answer that question later?" I ask, knowing that she would be too interested and I would have no hope of proceeding alone.

"Will you?" There is such utter disbelief in her voice.

"If you ask me. I will answer." I can see from her face that she still doesn't believe me. So conjuring all of the truth and honesty I have within my skin I speak again. "I promise." I truly do not remember ever speaking those words to her, or even to anyone and really meaning them and it makes me wonder, if she can feel the weight of those two simple words as I do.

She accepts this, one side of her lips curling into a smile. "You're being secretive again." The accusation is spoken in jest and it pushes away a lot of the tension that has settled over me this morning.

"Does it count if it is only temporary?"

"Maybe." She says looking to the ceiling and looking thoughtful. "I'll let you know."

Dropping a kiss to her temple and gently whispering, "Go back to sleep," into the shell of her ear I rise and quickly leave the room.

I am grateful that I now possess the knowledge to find the kitchen, finding the strange free elf still working, still serving even at such an ungodly hour. I vow that one day I will ask him if he ever sleeps but fear that when I do that conversation will be far longer than anyone could ever anticipate, so only bid him good morning and make my request. With nothing more than a snap of his spindly fingers he presents me with a rack of pork ribs, still steaming. It's hardly oxen but it will have to do, it is still flesh and bone after all.

Then, while still under the cover of night I make my out of the castle and into the forest. I step perhaps three feet into the tree line. Only wishing them to hide me from view, not swallow me whole. Finding a suitable place isn't as difficult a task as I had anticipated, locating a flat rock moments after setting foot under the high canopy. Placing down my tinderbox and running my hand over the stone to clear it of debris I'm ready to slowly begin to build my altar.

My mother would always stress the importance of the fire, I could effortlessly create one at the tip of my wand but to do so is too easy. No sacrifice of the time it takes to gather kindling and strike a flint. It's important that it is built and stuck by hand. My gods may once have despised this form of worship but if we must continue with this practice the least we can do is complete the ritual properly.

With the fire quietly crackling I ceremoniously strip the meat from bone, offering the latter to the sacrificial fire and consuming the flesh of the beast, then taking a seat and wrapping my arms around my bent knees. Only after this is done do I begin the prayer. Never using words not even in my thoughts. Just my will, my need, driving my emotions and hunting for an answer, never asking for anything specific, just a spark of inspiration.

"Oh, hello." The voice that interrupts my silent plea is so close that I have to open my eyes just to affirm that someone is in my presence. There she stands, not two feet away Luna Lovegood, bathed in the half moonlight just at the edge of the trees.

"How did you do that?" I ask. So perplexed by this turn of events that I completely ignore the nagging feeling that I should be curbing my speech so I do not admit fault. She's doesn't answer, not exactly, only stepping between the foliage and slowly tilting her head in a bird like movement of question. "I didn't hear you coming." It's unsettling to say the least, to think that I can hear the slightest change in Hermione's heartbeat but cannot perceive the approach of this girl when surrounded by so much noisy terrain.

"Must be the Rasnacks." She says slowly approaching. "You're head's full of them."

The feeling that I am going to truly regret my next query slithers down my spine but still I ask. "Rasnacks?"

"Yes, noisy little creatures." Her eyes that were just seconds ago unfocused and gazing between the trees now settle on my small fire. "Who are you praying to?"

That's a deflection if I've every heard one. Trying to draw my attention away from the creatures she has mentioned with something that affects me directly. It is a very clever use of the tactic but I have to wonder why she would bring them up in the first place if she has no wish to elaborate. "Athena." I answer, albeit a little defensively.

"For wisdom or strategy?"

Slowly I uncurl my arms from around my bent legs and lean back so I can properly look up at the girl. She still has that vacant expression somewhere between glee and nothingness. Not appearing to put any thought into what she's saying as her eyes remain unfocused and still, looking in my direction but never actually seeing me. "Both." Is my answer and I remain weary. Athena is the goddess of many things; she is clearly knowledgeable of this. So why chose the only two aspects that I wish to tap into in this moment? More to the point how could she know?

"That's a little greedy isn't it?" She all but invites herself to take a seat next to me.

Now it is my turn to sound distracted when I speak. "I suppose." She's now looking at the fire, but even with her eyes turned away she's watching me. It's a feeling that I can't quite describe but somehow I know that even though she isn't looking she's still able to see. Then my face creases into a frown of thought. I was out here seeking wisdom and I distinctly remember calling this girl wise. Would the gods really send such a strange messenger? Why am I even asking that? Of course they would. "It's a little early to be out in the grounds, don't you think?"

"Oh, I woke up…" She pauses for a heartbeat, raising the direction of her gaze to sweep over the canopy high above out heads, "here. I sleepwalk. Wake up in the strangest of places."

For the first time I take in her attire. She is in a nightgown to prove her excuse, a thin slip of martial that surely can't provide any warmth in the chill of the pre dawn. Her feet are also bare, which could explain how she was able to walk so close to me without making a sound. She stretches out, closer to the fire, watching as she curls and straighten her toes. "Aren't you cold?" I finally ask. She has made no noise to indicate as such and even under my intense scrutiny I haven't been able to detect a shiver but still, having just woken and in such a state of undress I find it highly unlikely that she could be comfortable with the temperature.

She takes a moment to answer me, her eyes quickly losing their faraway look in favour of appearing deeply introspective. "A little." She answers eventually.

Managing to suppress a sigh of irritation I swiftly remove my robes and hold them out to her, trying to make the whole exchange move forward a lot quicker than she will allow so no one can question the motives for my actions. Mostly me to be honest. "Here, take it." I say when she does no more than blink at me for several seconds. When the inactivity continues I come dangerously close to losing all patience with her. "Look I'm far better dressed to be out here. Just take it."

So agonisingly slowly she reaches out for the article of clothing. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." I mutter throwing a small twig into my fire as a distraction. "Ever."

"Why don't you want people to know how nice you are?"

Her softly spoken, dreamy words give me a humourless snort of laughter, "I'm not nice Luna." Reaching down to my sleeve I bunch it between my fingers in the material and use it to scratch at the tiny healing wound beneath it.

"You can be." She says this with such certainty and such lucidity that I find her eyes immediately. "You could be." Just like that the clarity is gone, the look of seriousness replaced by the half vacant expression, that I am more accustomed to. Does she wear that suit of armour as I wear my mask of impassiveness? "Are those ox bones?" Her gaze is back on the small flame but her sights aren't, somehow she is far to busy looking at everything else.

"No, I'm afraid not. Pig was the best the kitchens could offer me." I say, thinking it might be pointless to try and make this conversation travel in any linear pattern, so I settle for leaning back on my hands and let her lead me through her twist and turns.

"That's a pity." She must begin to feel the chill in the air because she pulls my robes far tighter around herself. "Would have been more appropriate."

Before I have chance to ask her exactly what she means I have to swallow a grunt of pain. Once more tearing the scab from my arm and I have caused it to bleed, the scarlet droplets seeping through and staining my stark white shirt. Viciously I pull on the cuff to open it and roll it up my arm, both to inspect the damage and to stop any more of my life's liquid from touching the material.

"Did you hurt yourself?" She asks and I have no idea how she does it but manages to sound both concerned and vacant in the same instant.

I shrug off her question. "It's just a scratch." Then stop to close my eyes, at the feeling that overtakes me. Every morning for months I have woken to the suns rays touching the horizon, more than once before that. Feeling the sunrise long before I can see it, deep in the pit of my stomach but until now I had never done so out in the open air.

It's like a wave of warmth coating me from the inside out, like being bathed in sunlight right down into your bones.

"What it is?" Luna asks and in my state of bliss I had almost forgotten she was even there. Her voice sounding so curious that it makes me smile.

"The sun." I reply and as soon as I finish speaking I know it is far too vague for anyone to be able to decipher. "It's rising." I still having given her enough, but my eyes are rolling and my head is so fuzzy that I can't think of anything further to say.

"You can feel it." For a moment I assume she is asking me this but I'm wrong, I can see it when I am finally able to drag my heavy eyelids open. She's dipped her head forward, now visibly focused on me, a smile of wonder on her face. "What does it feel like?"

I open my mouth to speak but find that all I am able to do is expel a breath of air that had somehow become trapped at the back of my throat. My tongue, ties itself in knots and I quite simply do not possess the words to express exactly what it is that I feel. I never have and for the first time I recognise that. "I don't know," I say and it's not strictly the truth.

"Why do you feel it?" She says, not put off in the slightest that I was so unable to answer her first query.

A second time she strikes me dumb, a second time I have no answer. "I've never even asked myself that question." I reply with little else to offer her. I find it strange to think that can notice every facial muscle move as I watch someone speak and always ask myself why. Why that twitch, why are they frowning, why are they smiling. Always looking for the lie. Yet so far I have not turned that inquisitiveness inward. Even with so many things changing with my own body, I turned a blind eye to it. "What makes you ask?"

"You can feel it." She says and her eyes are sparkling, looking at me like I'm a curiosity. As if there is something shining around me that I am unable to see when I stare into the mirror. As I hold her gaze I realise that I have seen that look before but just cannot place it. The image swimming just out of my reach. "The brightest of lights," with that one sentence I can see it, the look on Tamlen's face when he finally met my eyes and spoke those words. That's what she looks like, almost exactly. "The origin of all that is good. And you can feel it."

I lean closer to her, needing to see every muscle along her face, I must know that out of all of the words and phrases in the English language, why she would chose that one. "Say that again."

She must hear something in my voice. Possibly urgency or desperation because that is all I can feel, either way she meets my eyes because of it, speaking slowly and watching me just as intently as I am watching her. "The origin of all that is good." If I were in another mindset, more concentrated on her reactions than the information that I wish to gather I would find it remarkable how much of a master she is over her mask of insanity. Not a slip, not a single one. Not a muscle betrays what it is she is thinking.

I feel the frustration slipping into my body, annoyed that I must prod further with words not with sight and reveal how interested I am in what she knows of this sentence. This inconsequence collection of syllables that keeps coming up, far too many times around me to merely be a coincidence. "Why would you say that?" Her closed lips curve, ever so slightly. Not actually telling me anything other than she knows how closely I'm watching her. Then turns her gaze away, settling it on the slow flicking of the flame a few feet from us. She's not going to give me anything unless I dig and I am far too invested and desperate to simply put down the spade. "Does the name Amaterasu mean anything to you?"

"Not to me." She pauses and for a moment I am terrified that this is all she will impart. "But to some, she is that which illuminates the heavens."

"And mother to us all." I mumble, pulling pieces of memory from the dark crevices of my mind. Filtering through every moment since the day I was bitten, hunting for anything that might just prove such a ridiculously outlandish theory.

"So, you have heard the stories?" The seriousness that was once between us evaporates as she speaks, stepping back into herself and taking on the persona of the unhinged.

"No." I answer her honestly and sensing that I have learned all I can from her, slipping behind my own mask. "Just the sentence." Before Ammy removed herself so completely, the centaurs spoke those exact words, with so much vigour and feeling behind them that I had no choice but to commit them to memory. At the time I didn't understand it, couldn't even pull apart the words because they were so confusing, so meaningless. Now I know the context behind it, everything becomes so clear.

That small family of centaurs saw the sunlight in my eyes. Every time they looked at me. Or to be more exact at least one version of the personification and the more I think about it the more it makes sense. Things that had no significance at the time now pulled to the forefront and I must take note. Every time I woke to the rising of the sun. Not because of the actual time of day but because it clambered over the horizon to begin a new day. That day after I was bitten, the scratches across my skin that were once visible, I saw them and the blood that matted my clothes. Clinging to my skin. The sun was shining that morning. It pulled me from a deep sleep that I had thought to be unconsciousness, even if it couldn't reach deep into the dungeons of the castle it still filtered through the high windows in the infirmary. Catching the deep scars before anyone could see.

The conclusion I come to time and time again, as I follow all of the available information I had involuntarily stored in my memory bring me back to the same bizarre conclusion. She's a goddess.

That only leaves one avenue. One more text that will prove, at least to me, one way or the other if such a thing is even possible.

Luna is watching me when I push myself to my feet, even though she is keeping her eyes on the fire she's watching every move I make but she doesn't follow. Not when I begin to slowly walk away, not when I am hesitant to step out of the tree line and onto the castle grounds. Not even when I follow the lone of foliage for several feet so the imposing building cannot disrupt the flow of natural light. All the while watching that huge ball of burning peeking over the eastern sky.

Slowly, so slowly the shadows around me begin to retreat. The darkness of night giving over into day. Brining another morning, another whole host of possibilities for everyone but none more so than me. I find myself, even though removed from the impromptu alter still praying, only this time with no idea what for. Torn between a desperation for this idea, this impossibility to actually becoming a reality, and wanting nothing more than to run in fear over this, knowing it is something I have no hope of ever being able to comprehend.

The light touches my eyes and gradually travels down my torso, giving me time to either flee or gather enough courage to find out. In the end, the thought of remaining ignorant and remaining so alone in my own head has me raising my arm, showing my already healing wound to the sunlight. Right before my eyes it closes and is gone. That incision that has been weighing so heavily on my mind for days, throwing me into childish fits of retribution against anyone and anything that I could. Making me feel powerless and weak. Gone. Just like that, appearing to be swallowed up by my skin, under the beating of the sun's rays.

"That changes things a bit." I say quietly, just to hear it hit the open air. To force away the shock that such a revelation provokes. My words are an understatement, to be sure but a change for better or worse I cannot say. Cannot even begin to decide without more information and so far I have only found one person who will share their knowledge freely with me. Not in any linear order but freely non the less.

I doesn't take much to retrace my steps and I find Luna is much the same position that I had left her. Curled up and hugging her knees over my robes. Still staring at the flicker of the gentle flame. Slowly I lower myself at right angles to her. A lifetime of habit dictating that I must be able to clearly see her entire profile but still certain that I will learn next to nothing from her body language. "Who are you praying to?" I ask, keeping my voice low.

A half smile curls along her face and when she turns her sights from the fire she finds a distinct place over my shoulder to stare though. "Do you want to hear the stories?"

I know she can see my smile and I pause, leavening a silence between us filled only with the subtle breeze and the chirping of life from within the forest. A gap just long enough so she knows I have seen her deflection but once more has cleverly chosen a subject she knows I have an invested interest in. "You already know I do."


	40. Chapter 40: Recreating Past Events

Chapter 40

Breakfast, on this particular day falls at a very inconvenient time for me. Thousands of questions and so few answers from the assortment of myths Luna was able to impart to me. Caves and boulders. Along with serpents and swords. All very interesting stories for the sun deity but it still gives me very little information. Actions and consequences, assuming that they are all true, still taking place thousands of years ago. Proving to be very little help when very important questions, like why me, or how is that possible are raised. All it really did was cement my impossible conclusion in my mind. Many of the stories she had told me I had already seen in my dreams, months ago when all of this began. Vague images in the night, becoming real and tangible in the harsh light of day.

So logically the only step I can take is to force Ammy to the forefront of my mind. It would have been beneficial for her to have been bubbling beneath the surface and able to see this morning and all the revelations it entailed. However it appears my life is never quite that simple. Still my mind is so eerily silent you could hear a pin drop. It's frustrating to say the least.

Still I have already made a prior commitment and I sincerely promised Hermione that she would get some answers from me this morning. So I find myself in the Great Hall, already buzzing with life and somewhere amongst it I very awkwardly thank Luna Lovegood for her time this morning. She could clearly see how difficult it is for me to put that particular feeling into words, especially when I am not very familiar with a person. She watched me struggling with my own tongue and it took me several moments of strange, meaningless hand gestures to realise she was able to understand. Her eyes then found the magical ceiling of the hall and muttered a very distant 'You're welcome' before disappearing into the crowd to join her house. A very strange but very insightful girl.

When I approach the table where my friends are seated Ginny is the first to take note of me, pushing her back straight and seeking my eyes with her concerned gaze. Looking like a meerkat in amongst the rest of the student body, who all appear to be slouched in their seats or hunched over their morning meal. A single one of her red eyebrows raises in a form of question, before her face slowly morphs into a grin filled with so much mischief it very nearly makes me do an about face and forget the promise I had made this morning. Perseverance wins out and I take my seat with a very weary expression on my face.

"You're looking better today." She comments still grinning so wide she shows me her teeth, the expression makes me wish she might just begin her customary teasing. Just so I am not left on the edge of my seat with anticipation.

"Do I?" I ask trying to remove my eyes from her and settling it onto my empty plate, hoping it might remove all forms of temptation from her.

"Yeah, you look springy." Springy? That particular comparison has me raising both my gaze and a single eyebrow. "Like a rabbit on a promise."

"We're back to bunnies again?" I ask wondering if the state of my love life can really be the talk of the entire school. Surely there must be some more interesting form of gossip by now.

She shrugs her shoulders making an utterly unintelligible noise in the back of her throat. "I thought it had been long enough to bring it back. Besides the metaphor still holds true."

I sigh to myself and to be perfectly honest try to pin point the moment the younger girl was able to drag me down to her level enough to keep up this petty argument. "Tell me Ginny. Is your constant reference to my bedroom activities, a product curiosity or jealousy?"

She smiles, big and wide, becoming so enchanted by the back of forth we have so easily fallen into that she sets her cutlery aside. Forsaking her meal in favour of entering this spontaneous game that has begun so suddenly. "Jealousy." She begins to nod looking at some distant point over my shoulder in a mock show of thoughtfulness. "Defiantly jealousy."

Ron, the poor boy, who is still under some insane illusion that his sister is the picture of innocence almost chokes on his eggs. "Wh-what?"

We have already proven that if I ever found myself in a situation such as this I would turn beat red and promptly drown in whatever I happen to be drinking. Ginny, she just starts giggling and tries to give off the air of melodrama with a huge grin still plastered to her face. "Oh Ron, you could never understand what I share with Hermione. You can't spoil our love!"

No less than two years ago I might just have ripped her arms from her shoulders and beaten her to death with them for even jesting such a thing. Now? Now all I can do is burry my face in my hands and pray that the all-consuming laughter at the look on Ron's face, subsides sometime before I suffocate. "You're incorrigible."

"We can but try." She says, shooting a glance to my left, to look over Hermione while simultaneously lifting her goblet from the table. "Whatever is in that letter must be very interesting. I thought I'd at least get a scowl for that."

Personally I would have expected Hermione to strike out beneath the table and add another bruise to Ginny's collection she is beginning to gather along her shins but she remains motionless. Not paying us any heed as we descend into ever increasing childish banter. "Hermione?" I call and receive nothing, not a hint of movement, not a spark of acknowledgement. It's only when I glance over her shoulder to see what holds her attention that I begin to understand. All of the hairs along the back of my neck simultaneously stand to attention and I slam my eyes closed turning away from the page, the cogs in my mind already turning over this rapid change in events.

Without looking I reach over and snatch away the parchment from Hermione's fingers, it's only then that she moves. Turning towards me with a look of indignation pulled tightly across her features. "I was reading that."

The thin slip of paper crumples in my hand and I press my bent knuckles against my lips, all forms of jubilation evaporating in an instant. "No you weren't." I feel a tight growl lace my words, anger evident in my voice and only wonder for a heartbeat is my murderous thoughts show on my face. My eyes scan the Slytherin table, finding that crop of platinum blond in seconds. Malfoy is casually pushing Goyle in his seat, his attention decidedly not on me, not seeking a reaction. If this were his doing he would want me to know. Not asserting his dominance over his bodyguards. That leaves my father, which in turn brings about a whole host of possibilities.

"Jamie, give it back." Hermione says close to my ear and when my eyes land on her she physically recoils. Making it abundantly clear how obvious my rage shows on my face.

"What does it say?" I ask, trying to keep my voice level. She is not the source of my foul mood and I am trying to keep her out of its wake as much as humanly possible but to run now would do far more harm than good. So I must stay and risk the consequences.

Her mouth hangs open, trying to form a reply but I know even as she searches her mind for something she is certain she read mere moments ago she can recall nothing from her memory. I pull the crumples in the page out and rip it down the middle, effectively ending the curse that has been placed upon it then throw the two halves down onto my plate. It only takes Hermione's mind a moment to understand what it is she's seeing. "Is that a rune?"

"It's a Stygian symbol immobility." I say, resting my elbows on the table and pressing my fingertips into my eyes.

"Oh, I believe you." Ginny says and I can hear her reach over to pick up one half of the parchment. "What does it do?"

With a deep breath and absolutely no idea how I am going to structure the solution to my two current problems I answer, pulling the words straight from the textbook and not having to think about it. "Renders the reader completely motionless, save for breath. Surpassingly easy to conjure but relatively harmless to anyone who isn't a hermit."

"If it's harmless, what's the point?" Harry asks.

"What better way to send a message?" I answer in a distracted fashion, my eyes already on the staff table hunting for Snape. The uneasy trust I have begun to form for my head of house will have to be sufficient because tactically he is the best source of aid. However presently he is not in attendance at breakfast. I feel myself grunt low in my throat in frustration, not enough time to address all of the issues before lessons begin. However venomously I wish to take care of the concerns my father has risen at the very earliest opportunity, Snape's absence all but makes the decision for me.

Ginny raises her eyes from the page, looking much more still than I have ever seen her. "What kind of message?"

That's a loaded question if I ever heard one. Actions speak so much louder than words but not only that so many meaning can be attributed to a single act. The most prominent here, is to inform me that my father is severally displeased that I would go over his head in the manner that I did but this is not something I can divulge to the people around me, without drawing attention to the fact that I had made to betray them in the first place. "Just so I know he can, any time he chooses."

"I'm sorry." Comes the meek voice next to me and it effetely pulls me free of the haze of strategy and scheming that I have fallen into.

I feel my forehead crumple in confusion. "Whatever for?"

"You're angry." Hermione says, as if it should be obvious why she apologises.

"Yes I am." I concede and watch her eyes close but I am uncertain if she is waiting for me to lash out or feels guilt over my reaction. "However I fail to see how that could be your fault."

I see her swallow back whatever was on the tip of her tongue and retreat into herself looking docile and chastised. "I shouldn't have opened it."

"It was addressed to you." I say and try to stomp out such a train of thought. "Of course you opened it; you are going to learn how to screen your mail though." Yet another task I must complete, with each passing moment I add yet more to my day's schedule and I am rapidly running out of time. "Sometime after my detention." I mutter to myself then fall into a state of stillness for a whole heartbeat. Giving myself just enough time to order my thoughts and my day. "Excuse me." My hands press against the tabletop and I push myself to my feet. Heading towards the high doorway of the Great Hall and the fastest pace my long stride will allow without actually breaking out into a sprint.

I should have known Hermione would follow me. At my heels and quiet until we are out of earshot of most of the student body. "Where are we going?" She asks, looking up at me silently asking me to run my highly sensitive hearing around us to make certain we are not overheard.

"I have to speak to Ammy." I reply.

"Because of the letter."

"No the letter is separate." As it stands the correspondence from my father has only pushed my timetable to breaking point and now I have a sense of urgency running through my skin. I am grateful that it has not yet been pushed into the realms of panic. If that were to happen I would have no hope of putting anything into an executable order.

"So why are we going to speak to Ammy?" Hermione is quickly losing track of my train of thought. That much is evident from the way she uses her hands in some bizarre visual cue in an attempt to order them.

"Because," We reach the summit of a flight of stairs and I stop, turning on the shorter woman who is busy trying to catch her breath. "She might be the goddess of the sun." I continue in a very uncharacteristic show of honesty. The idea, the very notion of what I have just said is insane at best but so is a disembodied voice floating around in my head. Can this be any more outlandish than the voice of the primal half of my being rendered civil enough to communicate? To my mind the answer is no, categorically, unequivocally and Hermione has proven that my bouts of madness do not phase her. So to keep this from her can do nothing more than drive me deeper into lunacy.

Hermione blinks for a moment in my direction, waiting me to burst out laughing or try to scramble about dragging the words back into my mouth. When I do neither all she can say is: "She's a what?"

"Might be." I remind her, turning and setting a burning pace along the hallways. "That's why I need to talk to her."

"Jamie, that's…" She manages to catch up to me waving her open hands around to show that she has no way of expressing herself without using words that I might take offence to. "That's absolutely crazy."

"Yes and everything else that's happened to me in the past nine months is completely rational."

"More rational than gods and goddesses inhabiting human hosts." She says and I can feel her eyes on me as my jaw tightens. She heaves a huge sigh and on some level just accepts my words at face value. "Alright, fine you need to speak to her. She disappeared days ago. How exactly are you going to hold a conversation when she isn't around?"

"I'm going to pry into her memories and call her into this world." I say halting in my frantic stride to look at the solid wall on the seventh floor.

"You're going to what?" Hermione says, deeply confused.

"I'm going to recreate the first time she spoke to me." I explain and for the first time find myself deeply grateful that Hermione's inquisitiveness forced her to follow me this morning. "I need the meeting place of Dumbledore's army."

She still has her mouth hanging open in shock, words of disagreement lodged somewhere in the back of her throat as she looks first to me then to the expanse of wall. "The last time you did that, you were bed ridden for nearly a day and you are still in constant pain because of it."

"I'm open to suggestions, Hermione." I open my arms wide, in a show of surrender and utter acceptance of what she might impart.

"You have a god of the sun." She begins and I can see a streak of stubbiness running through her eyes as her arms cross over her chest. "Have you tried praying to him?"

She's not pacing. Why is she not pacing? Even I know that she must pace the hallways and ask the room for what she needs before the room can come into existence. "I prayed to Athena." I see Hermione's face crumple at this and I'm not certain if she does not recognise the name or she had not been prepared for that response. "This is the wisdom she gave me. Now if Amaterasu happens not to be the same entity as Apollo, angering him would not be very productive."

She runs out of solutions very quickly and shows me this by growling low in the throat, her hands fisting in her bushy hair. "Why are you so stubborn?" she asks through gritted teeth and turns on the ball of her floor to begin pacing the hallway.

The question may have been rhetorical but the answer leaves from between my lips before I can confine it. "Necessity."

Even before the door has fully materialised the brass knob is cooling my palm and I am pressing my shoulder against it to push it open. My robes are still currently around the shoulders of Luna who made no effort to return her to dormitories after we returned to the castle. So without that particular hindrance to remove I pull at my sleeves until they are rolled high above my elbows and tug my wand out of my back pocket. Shifting my weight from one foot to the other and mentally gearing myself up to confront Ammy. "You don't have to stay." I speak without turning to face Hermione.

"You're always saying that to me." She says and I can hear that she is still not happy with the way that I have chosen to deal with this situation. When I twist my body to lock our gazes though, she doesn't show me any anger, only frustration over not being able to come up with a viable alternative. "One day you'll learn I'm not going anywhere."

I don't know whether to thank her profusely or curse her into oblivion for those words. Never before have I had anyone to lean on in this way, only ever having enemies or dependents. It's a feeling that I know I like but I am uneasy with becoming used to it, as when it is snatched from under my feet I am sure to fall. Instead I opt to nod in a neutral fashion and take a deep breath, pushing the feelings away to be analysed later and try to pull Ammy's memory to the forefront of my mind.

I can picture it, that field of rice. I can feel the blossoms caressing my skin and smell the air fresher than one can imagine but I cannot feel the election these images once held. Closeting my eyes so tightly I can hear thunder in my ears I try to claw at the emotion, attempt to drag it into my being to no avail. In desperation I point my wand and speak the words to the Patronus Charm only to be met with nothing more than the echo of my own words, followed by a resounding breath of frustration.

"Last time you weren't like this." Hermione says from behind me, making me turn towards her with a questioning look. "You couldn't find a memory before."

"You noticed that?" I ask.

"Not at the time. I remember thinking that you'd managed to stubble on something but I didn't know until today that it was Ammy's memory, not yours." She drops her temple into her waiting fingers letting her short nails scratch across her scalp in thought. Hermione may very well not approve of this method to pull Ammy forth from wherever she has chosen to hide herself but providing her with an intellectual problem does tend to have this effect. "If you want to recreate the events that made you aware of her you might have to go through the same process."

This theory does not exactly fill me with confidence. "Whatever I tried before didn't work. I don't remember what they were."

"I don't think it needs to be exactly the same." She says her eyes glazed still deep in thought. "Just the feeling. The frustration that you can't find a happy enough memory, maybe it'll drag one of hers to the surface again."

"That's a very good theory." I praise and watch her attention snap back to me with a bright smile.

Most of my concentration goes to the grip on my wand as it begins to fidget. If she is correct then I must try to call a Patronus. Actually try, not just chose memories at random that I know will have no effect. Although having said that, would it really matter if I were to use one of my own memories? I don't see how the form of my charm can change depending on the memory and the animal I call is the wolf inside me, the very same creature that Ammy inhabits, so either way I am calling her into this world, thus achieving the same end.

Surprisingly, considering this is the second time I have attempted this spell I find it far easier to recall things that have made me happy. Even if not truly, now that I understand the emotion more I can pinpoint further moments when I have felt it. Particularly in recent months.

Dale, Ginny, and Hermione all these people with their unconditional loyalty and fondness making me feel things that I had thought dead to me for so long. These reactions to such recent experiences all of which I had failed not notice until I stopped to pick them out and recall them in detail.

I pull memory after memory to the forefront, speaking the spell and one or two are potent enough to conjure a small beam of light but not the fury beast that I had been hoping for. At some point I fall into the natural rhythm, enjoying having a viable excused to relive some of the more pleasant moments of my past. I have no idea how long it is before I feel a tug at the back of my head and an image I've never seen before begins to take over my consciousness behind my eyelids.

Her memory invades me and even before it fully forms I feel its warmth. The sun is shining so brightly and I find it oddly fitting. People around dancing to a music that I cannot quite hear, the sound falling away into the background in favour of the joyous celebrations all around, woman in brightly coloured headdresses, coins dangling over their eyes and all around their crowns. Offerings of food held out in front of them in open palms.

Before I even utter the words, I know what I have managed to pull from deep within Ammy's mind is powerful enough to bring her forth and I am not surprised to see her in front of me when I open my eyes. This time she is not snarling, not bearing her teeth, just sat on her hind legs. Her front paws angled perfectly to hold the pose and the strangest look of curiosity on her face.

"You." I hear myself growl in an accusatory way. Watching Ammy's ears shoot up and her eyebrows take on the form of worry. I take a step forward and Ammy has to push up her hind legs to take a corresponding step backwards. All of the second-hand happiness and joy I felt moments ago falling away, like shedding a second skin. Giving way to the pent up feelings of aggravation and powerlessness that her departure left behind days ago, needing an outlet and finally finding the correct entity to unleash my annoyance. "After all those weeks of constant bombardment, we finally start to get along. Just a little just enough to tolerate each other, then one question comes up, that you just decide I'm not ready to hear the answer to it." Still I advance on the four-legged animal composed entirely of light and still she retreats. Looking around my imposing figure and presumably towards Hermione for some form of aid. "You just decided that and disappeared." In a fit of anger I uncoil my arm and unleash a mild stunning curse in the direction of the animal. The spell is useless, considering I'm aiming at an entity comprised of nothing but light, but the loud yelp and the way that the wolf springs to the side to avoid the red jet does wonders for the pent up frustration I can feel in my chest. "So tell me how exactly does that make you better than me?"

"Jamie, perhaps this isn't the best way." Hermione begins to say, pressed as tightly to the wall as her frame will allow. I don't smell her fear so can only assume that she is making every effort to stay out of the way as much as possible.

"Hermione, you don't understand." I turn my head towards her, knowing that I haven't given her nearly enough information for her to fully comprehend. "If she had just told me, just given an inkling that the sunlight could heal me I wouldn't have been so fucking stupid." In an instant my sights are back on Ammy, ready to dive head first into another rant till the very moment I run out of breath or energy, whichever presents itself first.

Quicker than I could snap my fingers she understands exactly what it is I'm talking about and her hind legs begin to bend gaining momentum and I can see that she is about to pounce. "Don't you…" I begin to speak but before I can finish all the power that has been building in her back legs has been released and she is sailing through the air. Nothing can stop her, her form slams into my chest with such force that I take back and the light that invades my vision is blinding. With a stumbling step back I catch my footing, brining my arm up to shield my eyes and uselessly finish my sentence. "Dare."

Trying to let my eyes adjust to the rapid change in lighting I lower my arm but still have to squint so deeply that I can barely make out the nothingness that I know I am now surrounded by. Some forgotten, unused part of my mind, seemingly infinite in size and does pose the question why it is that I have no use for this space.

"You are either far more astute," Ammy's voice appears behind me and even in the midst of my blindness I am able to pinpoint her location. "Or far more determined, than I have ever given you credit for Human."

"You're only just learning that I'm stubborn." I try to pull a mocking tone into my voice. Deeply annoyed that she had seen fit to keep her true identity from me and currently, not caring for the consequences of my words. "How long have you been in my head?"

"You know I cannot hear your thoughts." Quickly my vision becomes blurred and what I see has me frowning. Not the fuzzy image of a beast as I had expected but an outline of something distinctly human in nature. "Truthfully, I think they might be far too numerous for me to bear."

"I'm sure you'd survive, immortality tends to do that." I reply.

She begins to laugh but somehow makes it sound lyrical, not her mocking tone she would usually take with such a sarcastic comment. "You're species. So much to learn. Sometimes survival has nothing to do with living."

With a shake of my head and a final deep blink I am able to rid myself of the dizziness enough to see a crisp outline of her. Before me stands a woman, not a wolf, not an animal but a beautiful woman, with soft flowing features and a long silky mane of deep black hair, dressed in a flowing, crisp white kimono. The single colour broken by a single strip of deep red cloth running from each side of her neck right down to the floor. I ignore her comment completely so enchanted by her appearance and openly run my eyes along her length, appraising every inch and eventually finding her eyes, filled with amusement. Such a deep brown you would swear they were black. "Is this what you look like?"

She takes a step back, opening her arms wide so I might have a better view. "This is a fair representation, yes."

"Representation?" I repeat wondering if I had heard the contradiction in her voice or if I had only imagined it.

"Yes." She says after a long pause, lightly touching long slender fingers to her temple. "So many years bring about, so many names and faces. It is easier to settle on one and this form at present, pleases me the most."

Every so slightly awestruck with this new knowledge I have to buy myself time to process it by running a hand through my hair. "How many names?"

"Oh, countless." Her hands come together and the long material covering her arms covers the appendages in their entirety. "In every faith you will find some attribute to me. Sometimes one, sometimes dozens. Then every spark of imagination brought about by the sun, all a piece of me."

"So…" I feel myself frown, "you're not just a sun goddess you're all of them?"

"In its most simple form, you could describe it as that." I feel my face stretch in a form of question, not wanting to halt her train of thought, so she might impart her knowledge upon me without my prodding. She sighs, long a deep looking around at the nothingness that surrounds us trying to order her speech. "Without us, many things that live upon this plane would cease to be. Everything of nature would be in chaos, the sun and moon rising and setting. The seasons coming and going as, and when they please. No structure to the world and as a consequence many things, if not all would perish. However, if not for the belief of the living, the immortal forces of nature could not exist."

I know I must look confused, although I feel far from it. So ambivalent, I cannot decide if her words make perfect sense or if they are such utter lunacy that I should discard them and never ponder them again. "We keep each other alive?"

"Life is the burden of mortal beings but with so few alternative phrases, the comparison could be drawn." She steps closer, now within arm's reach watching me so intently. "Do you see now, why you must discover these things yourself?"

"No." I answer instantly. If I'd had all of this information, so many things would be different. Things could have panned out better; I could have acted in a more mature fashion these past days. Why is she so incapable of seeing that?

"You could never have been ready for me to have just told you. Such impossible things, you're belief would never have been enough. Before we could speak of this you had to already know." I can see by the imploring look upon her face that she truly believes this. Not only that she wishes for me to understand. "When something is beyond reason it must also be beyond doubt."

"But how was I supposed to discover something like this, without guidance?"

"You have, haven't you?" Her deep eyes are locked on mine, not searching for something, not hunting for anything from me but trying to convey the depth of her feelings. "With such perseverance and patience it was only a matter of time but you had to find it by yourself."

I run my palm over my mouth and lower jaw, trying to figure out when she knew this about me. Of my constant persistence, it must have been before she became part of my life otherwise what is the point? "It could have taken me years." I point out, thinking about all the tiny details I had thought innocuous and only now with the gift of hindsight do I see how important they might have been.

"It didn't." She counters without even pausing for thought.

This line of questioning is beginning to make me feel like I'm working myself in circles. "How could you have possibly known that?"

"Simple." She pauses; I can see the indecision as it works its way through her system. What she should say and what she shouldn't. "It's why you were chosen."

Her words feel like a physical blow to the face and I have to force myself to take a step back, to keep myself from striking out in retaliation. "Chosen?"

I expect her to scramble about and try to remove that single word from my memory, to claw back at the air and pull it back between her teeth after such an adverse reaction. What I am not prepared for is for her to remain as still as a statue, holding my gaze and every ounce of my attention then speak a single word, "Yes."

"You chose me for this?" The anger is back, like a blazing inferno coiling in my belly only to be unleashed throughout every muscle in an explosion. Questions I should have been asking but was far too distracted with the terms of her existence that they paled away into nothing, until now. "You made me into this thing, this animal for what? So you could meddle in the lives of mortal beings."

The fires that are being stoked in my mind shine brightly in her eyes in an instant and she is stepping dangerously close to me, within striking distance and I am so tempted by it. To just uncoil and physically release my aggravation. "On two points you grossly misunderstand." There it is, that animalistic growl laced through her voice. "Firstly, I would never have mattered what anyone did or said. You would always have been loured into that forest and you would always have been bitten." She holds out her hand, her thumb pressed against her two foremost fingers in some strange gesture. "A fixed point in your fate that would always and must always come to pass. No man, no god, no demon could ever change that. What was not determined was whether or not you would survive." Her pierced fingers pressed against her down breastplate. "My presence ensured that you would. So do not ever presume, Human that my purpose is only to make your life less tolerable."

She turns away from me, pacing back and forth across the crisp white floor, clearly now in a foul mood over my assumptions. Although undoubtedly I feel chastised I in no way feel unjustified in my feelings towards this discovery. "Why me?"

"You were the perfect choice." She voice is curt but I am happy to see some of the rage has melted away, forced away by the constant movement of her legs. "There was no way to spare you from lycanthropy and it gave me the opportunity to become one with you," She holds out her arms wide to indicate the space around us. "In this way. There are so few things the human race rejects to such an extent, especially in the first few moments. It leaves a void, or a crack if you will in your psyche. It provided a rare incident when two entities can inhabit a single being."

"That doesn't answer my question." Subconsciously I fold my arms across my chest, I can feel myself becoming unsettled and need to protect myself, in the only form that I currently have available to me. "Why me when there are hundreds of werewolves, in this country alone?"

"Yes, but none with your skills." She does not give me the opportunity to question her, she advances, slowly one hand held out to each side. "You were able to exist in both, the light and the dark. Two completely opposing worlds and yet you were able to separate them. Inhabit both and have neither world feel the pains of the other. A delicate balance that so few can master, especially one so young but you did, for years." Her eyes once more find my face and I see her expression fall slightly. "You still don't understand do you?"

My teeth grind tightly together that I'm certain she can hear my jaw creaking. "No."

Both of her palms come together and she presses her lips tightly against her joined fingers, looking down at our feet so deep in thought that I am confident that she cannot see them. "The human race will always fight." She begins after a long pause. "Will always be drawn into war, over money, power, land, and sometimes just because two people truly believe that it is the right thing to do. So many times throughout history this happens, always making the same mistakes and so many times no one knows how close you came to irradiation." I remain quiet, letting her finish her speech only letting myself swallow back something akin to fear that is beginning to rise up from deep inside of me. "I and others like me rely on your race to survive, so we cannot allow that to happen."

"This is about the war?" I asked with a stunned expression on my face. For some reason I had always thought our conflicts on earth had been too trivial, too beneath the gods for them to ever take notice. Now I find myself with one standing before me, a deity I've never believed in telling me the exact opposite. Not only that but, the whole reasoning behind all she is saying is so obscure, so beyond comprehension that my head begins to spin. "You made sure I survived so I could fight in a war. I'm barely more than a child."

She holds her hand out palm up in my direction to indicate my form. "Yet you still fight, even now with every breath. You fight for what you want, for what you need."

"Everybody does that." I reply.

She closes her eyes slowly as she heaves a sigh, pointing out that I am, in fact being difficult but to live with a goddess within my mind, possibly within my very soul, was never something that I had ever factored into my life's plan and to be perfectly honest I am undecided on whether it is a positive thing to have happened to me or not. "To some extent yes but few with so much vigour, passion and effectiveness. You would give anything for the ones you love, your life, your happiness, everything you have to give and you will always do so in such a way that can potentially save lives."

"Only of the people I care about."

"Indirectly, because of how you do battle you could save hundreds more and their belief will keep us in existence. That is the one true purpose of my presence." I watch as her eyes dart around my face and I am completely at a loss to what she must see. I know this is too much for me to fully appreciate when confronted with it in this way and I don't know if my features would show my struggle or would remain blank in perplexity.

All of a sudden Ammy turn her head away from me, tilting her head to the side, listening to the still air all around us. At her change in posture I strain my ears, what could she possibly hear? Deep in this unused portion of my mind? As far as the eye can see there is only the bright nothingness but my ears catch something. Barely noticeable, hardly even there, an indistinguishable hum, strangely constant never pausing for breath or effect. "Our time grows short." Ammy mutters and does not make it clear if this is for her benefit or for mine. "We must continue this later."

"What is that noise?" I ask already beginning to feel my limbs become heavy and my lungs starting to stiffen.

She glances up at me for only a moment and the world around me begins to brighten still further, close to blinding once more. "Time. Catching up with us. As it must do for all things. I will be there when you awaken."

I open my mouth to question her further but the bright flash that invades my vision has me stopping in my tracks and stumbling backwards. The back of my foot catching on a protruding crack in the floor and gravity does the rest, dragging me down onto my back. When I strike the floor it sounds hollow beneath me and knocks most of the air from my lungs.

Struggling to regain my breath I force my eyes open and after swiftly blinking back the effects of the bright lights I feel a frown tug at the sides of my eyes, somehow finding myself staring at the rafters at the high ceiling in the Room as Requirement. A heavy sense of déjà vu settling over me and pulling at a knot of fear deep in my belly.

The sound of running footsteps can be heard throughout the hollow flooring moments before Hermione's hands settle to around my ears. Putting pressure on either side of my head in what I would imagine is an effort to keep it still should my meeting with Ammy once more throw me into a seizure. I am only mildly surprised to find that my senses are just as sensitive as they were before I called my Patronus.

Hermione face may appear in my sights upside-down from due to where she kneels upon the floor but still I can see the frown of worry that creases her brow. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." I answer, before I am completely convinced of that. My forearms press against the floor and push my torso up so I am in a better position to glance around the room. Waiting for something to happen, some unforeseen and painful consequences of calling upon a goddess to such an extent. "I feel fine." I say once I have confirmed my initial statement then twist my upper body to look up and my companion. "How long was I out for?"

Instantly the confusion settles over her. "You weren't." She says slowly, not swayed entirely that I have suffered no ill effects. "You just fell."

Ammy's voice thunders through my head a moment later. 'You are able to think a thousand thoughts in a single instant.'

My temple drops into my waiting palm, a deep sense of relief washing over me. Just to have her there, her ever observant eyes peeking out from behind mine. I honestly didn't think I would miss it this much. "You're back." I whisper.

'I did promise as much.' That air of superiority is back in her voice and for the first time I truly understand why it was always nearby, only having to wait for the mocking tone that is sure to follow. 'Although, it is a nice surprise to see you are happy about it.'

"Yeah, well…" I begin turning to push myself to my feet. "Just don't get big headed over it." When I look down at Hermione, still kneeling on the floor wearing an expression somewhere between elation and amusement I can help the slow cautious grin that I feel tugging at my lips. "What?"

She shakes her head, taking my outstretched hand up air in to her feet. "Sometimes you want to be so isolated but you like having a constant presence in your head." She takes my face in her hands, my grin appearing to be contagious as it spreads across her face. "Sweetheart. You are nothing if not an oxymoron."

I nod slowly, pushing a thoughtful expression across my eyes. "I'm going to take that as a compliment."

"I'm sure you will." She says, pushing herself onto her toes to bestow me with a chaste kiss. "What happens now?" She says losing the jesting nature of our exchange in an instant. Reminding me that more serious matters still need to be addressed.

"Now." I say, pulling out of her lose embrace and turning towards the door, scrubbing my fingers through my hair as I do. Hoping it might dislodge some spark of inspiration "Now I have to decide how we're going to deal with this letter."

'Letter?' Ammy asks in bewilderment. 'What exactly has transpired in my absence?'

My palm finds the door knob just as I'm waving a dismissive hand across my own ear. "I'll tell you later."


	41. Chapter 41: Clutches and Ladders

Chapter 41

There was a reason I missed Ammy's constant intrusion into my thoughts. I'm certain of it, at one point I actually wanted her relentless gaze, peering out from behind mine in a way that makes me feel several sorts of insane and there had been a very tangible rationale behind that particular desire. The fact that I cannot put my finger on that right at this moment should not be relevant but it's all I can think about. It's different, now I know who and what she is. What she represents. In truth it probably raised more questions than it answered.

I admit that I have a very vague explanation as to why she decided to invade my soul in the manner that she has and I am still trying to work my way through it but the most significant question that I now find myself unable to come to any sort of reasonable answer is: what is so interesting?

If she truly is an entity that transcends time itself, creates life by simply existing. What can I possibly see, or hear, or smell that can possibly have her so enchanted that she must look. What can be there, in my gaze that she has not witnessed a thousand times before?

Normally these, endless, infuriating questions wouldn't pose much of a problem. A distraction most certainly but not problematic; however on this occasion I have the letter sent to Hermione this morning pressing heavily on my mind. Somehow I must retaliate but with so many avenues available to me it is difficult to decide which would be the most effective and perhaps more importantly which would be the least likely to be traced back to me should an Auror be called in to investigate. Before I can commit to any sort of revenge however I must first try to safeguard myself against any form of pain I or the people around me might face in return.

Through the entirety of the morning and most of the afternoon I have been able to ponder these two quandaries with minimal effort. However Potions class does bring about even more challenges, with the bombardment of stimuli from all angles and the constant feeling that Snape can see right through the veil of disinterest I constantly wear with as much ease staring through a pane of glass. The only evidence he gives me on this occasion is when I drag myself out of a contemplative stupor and immediately find his black, disapproving gaze upon me. He doesn't make any sort of comment but I still remain behind after class. Promising the three Gryffindors that I will catch up with them at some point before I must descend into the kitchens this evening.

The room is empty before he even takes note of my presence. Still busying himself by throwing cleaning charms at the tabletops in an almost irritated fashion. "I hear you've been busy."

His tone of disapproval voice makes me stop and blink at his back for a moment. What exactly is his asking me? Uncurling my arms from around my chest I push myself to stand and move towards the front of the classroom. He makes no further motion to elaborate or even to look in my direction. Quickly I opt for the safer option and commit myself to only mention my educational transgressions, not wishing to simply hand him all other manner of things I have been involved in as of late. "Umbridge was pushing my buttons, it's not as if I actually did anything."

"Do not treat me like a fool." In a matter of heartbeats he has turned on me and crossed the room with his swooping stride, pushing his face so close to mine that it takes all of my will power to refrain from stepping back. "You know exactly what I'm referring to."

Not yet willing to give up any ground either physically or metaphorically I try to mould a mask of incomprehension across my face. "Sorry Professor. I don't think I do."

He snorts but not in any humorous manner, more like a bull making ready to charge. "You do not make demands," At this his fist strikes the top of the nearest desk. I feel my shoulders tense ready to defend myself and my eyes instinctually blink at the unexpected noise. "Of the Dark Lord."

It should surprise me that word reached him so quickly but it doesn't. On a lot of levels it makes sense that if it had filtered down the ranks all the way to my father in a single day, it would have been minutes before Snape had been informed. "You show your allegiances quite openly Professor." I say with as little emotion as I can muster, trying to refrain from either confirming or denying any assumptions he may have made.

"An odd comment." He says, staring into me with his black soulless eyes. "Coming from someone who makes it so obvious they know little of loyalty." His remark stings enough for me to take a step back, folding my arms over my chest once more but doesn't burn sufficiently for me to drop my eyes from his. "Tell me Miss Desay, because I am truly interested. Whose side are you on?"

"My own." My answer is both instantaneous and honest.

His lip pulls up in a shear of disapproval. "Well that certainly explains a few things." He pushes his closed fists against the top of the desk with such vigour that it slides along the stone a few inches, scraping against the floor; then turns from me in a very dismissive way.

Most of my face creases into a grimace of determination. Normally I would pray for a dismissal so quickly but today I simply refuse to leave this room until I am in possession of what I came for. "I don't understand why we're even having this discussion."

"Of course you don't." He says in a very offhanded way.

The blood in my veins begins to boil. In age I may be little more than a child but that does not give him licence to look upon me as an infant. "There is no way in this world or any other that the Dark Lord will grant clemency to a muggle born. So this entire argument is irrelevant."

"He is considering it." He turns on the spot, in a flurry of black robes and perches on the very edge of his desk. I can feel his eyes on me, looking over me and into me. Looking for the reaction I'm sure must be plain to see. Nothing can hide that sort of shock and already my mind is running over this statement looking for a way to use it to my advantage, another state of play that until this moment I had completely overlooked. "The position you are in, He'd give almost anything to have you in His pocket." Now he is trying to creep into my mind, I can feel him skimming the surface. Occlumency was never one of my strongest talents but I still see him flinch when I fill my mind with so many sounds and smells, aided by my advanced senses, I am confident he will not try that a second time. "You didn't know." He speaks after he has managed to compose himself.

"Stay out of my thoughts." I say with as much menace as I can muster, even as I feel Ammy's amusement slither down my spine. Those words are beginning to become somewhat of a mantra.

"Yes, I will remember that in future." He pauses, trying to gather as much information from what he is able to see and with exaggerated movements bridges his fingers close to his lips. "Does this change anything?"

Coupled with my discoveries this morning it changes everything but it would be unwise to let him know that. So I completely change the subject. "Whose side are you on Professor?"

I had hoped to push him onto the back foot but the smirk that slides across his crooked features is enough to inform me that he could see right through my ruse. "That does depend on who you ask. And on who's winning." In the blink of an eye his entire demeanour has taken an about face. Where before anger and resentment blazed in his eyes, now they twinkle with amusement. "What will you do now?"

"I'm sure you'll find out soon enough." I reply and clear my throat, hoping we can drive this conversation to the matter at hand. "I have a favour to ask."

"Just one? You do surprise me." He pushes off from his desk, somehow satisfied that whatever my next move may be he will be pleased with it. It leads me to wonder how deep he was able to dig into my head for those few seconds before I had noticed his presence. With a curl of his fingers he beckons me to walk behind him over to the store cupboard at the head of the classroom. "Now, how can I be of assistance?" With a dramatic movement he pulls open both doors and steps inside and away from view.

My head rears back slightly as a bony hand, springs from the darkness of the cubbyhole, holding a transparent jar and I only take it in my grasp when his hand moves impatiently. "I need some way of defending myself." I say in a distracted fashion holding the jam jar up to the light and shaking the viscous liquid inside.

His long, bony fingers wrap around the doorframe followed by his black, curious eyes. "You are competent enough with your wand. Are you not?"

"Yes. When I'm here at Hogwarts." I watch his thin eyebrow rise a moment before he vanishes behind the doorframe. "Outside of these walls I have rather limited use of my wand."

"Which will only be made worse by your disorder." He says and a closed wooden box is presented for me to take from within the darkness.

I take the object in my free hand and the only reason I don't take a peek inside is because with two fully laden hands I am unable to. "Exactly, there has to be some way that I can safeguard myself without one."

He exits the gloom of his cupboard and hands me three jars in rapid succession, forcing me to quickly balance each object on an arm I have pulled across my body. "You anticipate being attacked in the summer holidays?" He says with a disinterested air about his tone but the way his eyes cut to me when the doors are closed are enough to let me know that he is committed to this discussion.

"Oh yes, definitely." I say and immediately know that it will not be an adequate response for the potions master. He beckons me back over to his desk and very suddenly I realise that I have been used as a mule but can't find the energy to address it any further than sending a scathing glare in his direction. "I anticipate that I will antagonise someone enough for them to come after me."

"Your father I presume." He says and I can feel his eyes on my crown as I nod to the affirmative, slowly unloading the ingredients onto his desk. "How do you think you will provoke him?"

"By breathing." I answer instantaneously. Nothing I do now will ever sway me from a conflict with my father. All I can really do now is, attempt to prepare for the enviable and irritating him into such a state that he does something fundamentally stupid. It's much more difficult long range but not impossible.

"Well, I suppose it would be useless to ask you to stop doing that." He says with more mirth in his voice than I can ever remember hearing. He takes a jar from the desk and unscrews the lid, dipping his nose inside and sniffing the contents before flinching away. Even I have to hold my breath until he screws the lid back on. "There are some forms of magic that do not require the use of a wand. Not really spells, more like blessings and rituals. Highly complex usually and it would be very difficult to use any such things aggressively."

My eyes stay on his hands as he arranges the objects in front of him in an order that must have some form of significance to him but means very little to me. "And where might I find more in-depth information on these blessings?"

"On the shelf behind me." His eyes are on his desk but he still smiles when every muscle in my body tenses, wanting to reach for the aforementioned book but not yet having the permission to do so. "You can take it with you, but you must promise to be careful."

"I'm always careful Professor." Within moments I have the offered book in my hands and I am leaving the classroom. Screwing my eyes closed the moment the door shuts behind me to try and push down the pounding that has settled over my forehead and behind my eyes.

'What was all that about?' Ammy asks the moment we are alone in the hallway.

"That?" I say, hearing my voice echo back at me, wishing I might have a physical being that I could speak to not just the words that spring up inside my skull. "I did something a little bit stupid and very short sighted."

She chooses some unintelligible syllables as a form of understanding. 'And why would you do that?'

I shrug, pulling my lower lip between my teeth, already knowing the best move I can make against my father. "It seemed like a good idea at the time." Execution is key, timing isn't, and an opportunity won't be difficult to come across. Its dinnertime, dinner would be perfect. All those witnesses, all unwittingly keeping me safe, from any physical harm at least. That means I can make my play and the effect could be completed by the end of the day, then I might not need to worry myself over tomorrows morning mail. Spurred into action I push myself off from the oak door, plotting the shortest route to the Great Hall.

'Are you going to tell me why we are rushing?' She asks after a few steps.

"Later." I promise once again, far too distracted with planning out the entire confrontation all the way to the Great Hall.

When I step through the high door way I coast my eyes over the Gryffindor table, just to locate my friends so I can make a hasty retreat, unfortunately Harry catches my eye and tilts his head in a silent question, asking why I have taken to standing at the doorway as opposed to joining them. I don't really give him any sort of response. I can't be the person he knows and with such little preparation it would be unwise to slip out of character for even a moment.

So I completely ignore him as he presses an elbow into Ginny's arm and turn towards the Slytherin table. Skirting along the sidewall and leaning over heavily when I reach Draco, one hand closed into a lose fist and resting on the table inches from his pate and my chest so close to his back that I give him a sense of claustrophobia. Careful to keep my voice low I try to force as much menace into my voice as I possibly can. "Call that protection?"

His whole torso twists and I find myself far too close to him for comfort so I take a step back and give him enough space to turn on me completely. "What are you blathering on about Desay?"

"Don't pull the stupid act with me Draco." I say through gritted teeth knowing that my poker face far outweighs his. I'll let him get to this conclusion by himself because, I know he can and this way it has a bigger impact. "Next time you want to come at me, you don't go through someone else, because if it happens again, I might be a little less forgiving." With that I turn to walk away, and only get half as far as I expect before his iron grip is closed over my upper arm and twisting me around.

There's a strange look on his face, something I've never seen there before. Somewhere between confusion and fear, it looks so out of place on Draco's features, that if I hadn't had so much control over myself in this moment I might have begun to laugh. "You do not walk away from me half breed."

"Is that a fact?" I ask stepping closer and resting my hand over my wand in the same motion.

I must have the desired effect on him because he swallows his terror before he begins to speak. "I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about." His eyes cut to the side, just to see who is within earshot and must be satisfied that he is safe to continue because makes he makes no effort to whisper. "Whatever has happened, we can fix it."

"Fix it? Do you have any idea what a Stygian symbol could potentially do?"

He snorts in laughter that I might think him so stupid and manages to say, "Of course I do." Just moments before it dawns on him exactly what I've just told him and his whole face drops. It's a satisfying sight I can tell you. "It wasn't us."

"I don't believe you." With a half shrug I begin to turn and I am already anticipating his physical restraint on my arm.

Desperation clouds his grey eyes, and he doesn't release his grasp even when I look down at the offending appendage. I watch quietly as he begins to panic, showing me far more cards than he had planned to in its wake. "It wasn't us. I'll swear it on Salazar Slytherin himself. We didn't have anything to do with it."

"So what you're saying is, that He can't keep one miserly idiot in line long enough to seal a deal." My words have him almost choking on his own breath. "I fail to see how he is going to manage that with the rest of you."

"He'll find a way." He's imploring look and anxious voice aren't working on me, very quickly he picks up on this, his whole face lighting up in a smile as he attempts another tactic. "Don't let this one occurrence," I notice his facial tick as he tries to find the perfect word to down play the event. "Spoil such a mutely benefited arrangement. He is all powerful and he will make sure everyone falls in line with our agreement."

"Malfoy." I say slowly. "There isn't any agreement." Glancing down at his hand that still holds me steady I reach out and take his wrist in my palm. Pushing the bones together in a way that I know from experience to be painful and forcibly remove his restraining grip from me. "Not anymore." This time when I go to move away he makes no attempt to stop me. And cannot see the smile of satisfaction slowly spread across my face as I walk away.

I strategically place myself at the Gryffindor table with my back to Draco so I do not have the temptation to glace over at him. If he were to see that the whole game would be up and I would have to find another piece to move when this one is so perfect I am loath to lose its effectiveness. Word will quickly get to the Dark Loud and eventually they will figure out who sent that letter to Hermione. If He is truly so desperate for the information I might be able to gather on Harry I don't think He would be too pleased that one of His followers had been the reason for me to retract my offer so abruptly. It places my father in a very precarious position and if the Dark Lord doesn't kill him, it should at least keep him busy for the time being.

When I am seated I place my elbows on the tabletop and lace my fingers, pressing my lips against them and try to drop the menacing armour I have just shown to Draco. With how much practice I have had as of late it should be a simple matter of striping it away but I find myself having to remove it piece by piece before I dare look at any of my friends. Not wanting to subject them to what I might say or do while in that frame of mind.

"What was all that about?" I hear Hermione ask carefully from across the table.

"Depends." I mumble against the sides of my hands. "Don't make it obvious but is he still looking at me?"

"Yeah," Ginny answers, and I fear that she may have been less then inconspicuous in her glance. She does tend to have the tact of a heard of unicorns but at least it would be characteristic of her. "Looks like a bit like a fish out of water actually." I feel myself grin at the same moment I hear worry in Ginny's voice. "Does that make a difference?"

"More than you know." I answer only just feeling that it is safe to open my eyes and meet her gaze. "Things are moving into place quite nicely."

"You're doing that thing again." Ginny comments, entirely ignoring the shoulder shove sent her way from Hermione. "That thing where you're really scary."

"I know, I'm sorry." I take up a pitcher of pumpkin juice to fill my goblet, more as a distraction from the table than any need to quench my thrust.

"You've seen her like this before?" Harry asks with a weary expression on his face and it does make me wonder if I truly change so much when I am interactive with different people on different levels. Before I had thought it to be quite subtle, mostly internal, my train of thought only. That the outwards signs had always been intentional, carefully calculated for maximum effect. Apparently that isn't the case.

"Well," Ginny says stretching out the word, going as far as to rub her palm over the back of her neck to show her discomfort with the change in discussion. "Just the once." She shrugs and snaps her attention to me to avoid Harry's inquisitive eyes. "So are you going to tell us what all that was about? Or are we going to have to guess?" Her elbow hits the table and she extends her index finger in my direction. Trying to appear threatening and failing in the attempt. "Now just remember, I have a very over active imagination."

"Oh don't I know it." If all the nicknames she came up with for Hermione are anything to go by that I dread to think what she might cook up for this. The problem I face now is that I have no opportunity to go into any sort of detail. Not without losing all of these people in the process and that kind of defeats the object of the exercise. "Don't worry too much about it Ginny, just rooks and bishops. Clutches and ladders. That sort of thing."

She goes to speak, leaning heavily on the table and piercing her first two fingers and thumb together. Her eyes squint in a show of concentration and I am twitching to reach for my wand, just to make sure she has not been hit by some sort of curse when she beings to speak very slowly. "You're…" She pauses closing one of her eyes entirely, trying to understand but at the same time trying very hard not to look stupid as she explains it. "You're playing a game?"

"To some extent, yes." Somewhere amidst the chaos of the room I smell Snape's arrival to the Great Hall and upon turning my head I find his gaze is already upon me. Well it certainly looks that way but I wouldn't be surprised if he were much more interested in the black haired boy sitting next to me. I wonder briefly if my latest maneuver would find approval with him then find myself shocked that I care for such things. "All of life is a game. Every conversation, every confrontation they all have objectives and rules. It's just a question of how you play."

Harry makes a noise in the back of his throat before drawing breath to answer. "That actually. Sort of makes sense. In a very distorted way."

Hermione remains conspicuously quiet, finding her meal the most interesting thing in the room. I'm sure it will be discussed later and who knows I might tell her exactly what just transpired between Draco and I, heavily edited of course but she does have a knack for dragging the truth out of me.

Ginny takes an entirely different approach in her quest to pry me open and see just exactly how I work. Her nails find her scalp and she scratches at it, in some strange attempt to understand. "I still don't get it. If all life is a game, does that mean you don't take it seriously?"

I find myself laughing at her question. Not because it's particularly funny but because the thought that I don't take these long distance battles seriously is absolutely absurd. "Just because it's a game, doesn't mean I don't play to win."

Someone swiftly changes the subject to a much lighter conversation and we become juvenile. Insults flying all over the place and I allow myself to relax for the first time in days. Confident that I have set things in motion that will soon pay off but all I can do now is wait, prepare, and scheme. Something I decide I can leave for another day. Happy just to exist, just and be a normal teenager, just for a few hours longer. It does help to clear my mind. And I had thought that I had finally been able to force events around me to move in a direction that would become advantageous to me.

That is until one Professor Dolorous Umbridge discovered the existence of Dumbledore's Army.


	42. Chapter 42:Lock and Key

Chapter 42

Studiously, I showed up to my detention on time. Not early, at exactly five o'clock I knocked on the High Inquisitor's door. Not a moment before because every moment I spend in the vile woman's presence threatens to throw me into deep waters and if I keep doing that I'm sure to drown. The smile on her face should have tipped me off as she used her body to block my view into her office, closing the door behind her. The way she made no move to try and bait me but she was smiling her sickly sweet smile anyway. She didn't say anything, didn't bother to show me her sadistic pleasure of explaining the task she had set me yet again, didn't even make any attempt to take my wand from me, not even with the conspicuous absence of Dobby. Just took me to the kitchens and left me to it.

I had thought the behaviour odd to be sure but didn't dwell on it, just scratched my scalp a decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Then pulled up my sleeves and set about scrubbing dirty dishes, which without the company of the friendly elf did make the task much more laborious and not just because after about an hour he snaps his fingers and does it for me.

I'm not entirely certain how long I stood there but I know my hands were wricked, my back was aching and I still wasn't even half way through the pile of cutlery before anyone came into the room. The sight of Draco standing at the door with a smug grin across his face was surprising to say the least.

He slowly stalks over with his air of superiority firmly in place. Not a trace of the earlier desperation I saw in his grey eyes to be found. I had tried to ignore him, returning to my chore and even managed to keep my eyes down when he leans his hip against the basin. "Enjoying yourself Desay?" He says, his tone mocking.

"I didn't think students were not permitted in the kitchen," I reach out with a dripping plate in my hand and put it on the draining board with much more vigour than was strictly necessary. Throwing bubbles and lukewarm water all over my housemate, making him step back and brush furiously at his robes. "At least not without expressed permission."

He pulls on his lapels in anoyance and loosely keeps it in his grasp, composing his stance and sending me the most menacing of smirks. "I have permission." His eyes then run the length of my body the tip of his tongue held between his teeth and I remove my hands from the hot water to turn on him. Never before has he look upon me like that, it makes me nervous and twitchy, especially now when I had so recently made him feel so small. "I'm supposed to come and get you but I kind of like watching you doing menial tasks."

"Alright." I say violently shaking off my hand and reaching for the dishcloth to dry my hands. "I yield, why do you look so pleased with yourself?" I try to sound unaffected as I turn and keep my eyes on my hands but him being down here can only spell bad things for me. Especially when I am unable to wipe that sanctimonious smile from his face.

"Oh, I've just had a very productive evening." He says and he curls his tongue behind his bottom lip and practically leers at me. "Shall we go?"

"Go where?" I ask keeping my feet firmly rooted to the floor. He doesn't say anything, just turns his back on me showing me he does not preserve me as a threat. "Draco." I call out to the empty room and throw the tea towel against the drying cutlery. "I'm quite capable of navigating the castle myself. If you just tell me where I'm needed, I'll hardly need an escort."

He bunches a single shoulder in a half shrug. "It's much more fun this way." He takes a moment to bite his lip and run his eyes over me in a manner that makes me ready to draw my wand and hex him so deeply into a coma that he misses his OWLS. "Come on." He says with a sideways movement of his head and once more turns his back.

With a heavy sigh I begrudgingly follow the Slytherin Prefect from the room and remain a half step behind, as I am lead through the castle, it doesn't take long for me to notice that I am retracing my steps from earlier. Travelling back to Umbridge's office and I'm not enough of an optimist to think we might just walk past to some other, less distasteful part of the castle; all the while having to watch the spring in the blond boys step.

He's attempting to unnerve me with his glee and I'm sorry to say that it is working as not many things can provoke this reaction in him. He's still wearing a lopsided grin as he knocks carefully on Umbridge's door and even goes so far as to open it when the squeak of "come in" travels from the other side.

With the acute sense that Draco is once more leading me straight to the gallows I enter the room, trying to ignore the sickening amount of kittens that litter the walls and countertops. Cute little balls of fur don't usually make the hairs along the back of my neck stand to attention but when the obsession of this woman is so far removed from her personality it gives them a menacing air. A sense of false security before everything explodes.

To the side of the door stands Professor McGonagall, her arms crossed and her back ramrod straight. The hardness in her eyes and the tight line of her lips making her look, if at all possible, even more stern than I am used to. I cannot fathom what I could have possibly done to annoy the head of Gryffindor house and it doesn't make me any less nervous. If she's here to witness some form of punishment then she must think it necessary.

I swallow down the lump forming in my throat and turn my eyes back to the High Inquisitor. Who is currently speaking to a dumpy little man, who does look somewhat familiar but his features are as such that he is quite unremarkable and I simply cannot place him. When she turns to me she actually had to look twice, as if she hadn't sent an escort and had no reason to expect me to be here. "Ah, Miss Desay, please come in." The civility in her voice makes my blood run cold and my muscles cease up. "Come in." She says with a little less patience after I fail to move. Stepping a little further in I change a glance at the deputy head and see her eyes lit up with a fiery rage that judging by her trembling she is finding difficult to control.

"You wanted to see me Professor?" I say hoping that she hadn't noticed the slight waver in my voice. Slowly I bring my arms around my back and clutch one hand in the other. This stance does two very important things; it makes me look very attentive and places my hands close to my wand.

"Yes." She says slowly, and squeaks with excitement. "Do sit down dear."

Now I know I'm in trouble, it doesn't matter what I may or may not have done there is no way I am leavening this room unscathed. I don't want to take a seat it would move my hands away from my back pocket, and to rearrange myself would look suspicious but she keeps looking at me expectantly. Without any reason to stay on my feet I am forced to slowly walk around the chair in the centre of the room and after delaying it as long as possible I pull at my trouser legs and take a seat.

She looks over the top of my head as she takes a perch at the edge of her desk. "You don't need to stay Minerva."

"Oh I think I will," The deputy head says not losing her ridged pose, "you've already manhandled one of my students this evening, I'll be damned if I let you do it again." I release a small breath at the tone of her voice. Whatever has made her so angry at least I can rest assured that it is nothing to do with me.

"You're students?" Umbridge says and waits a few moments for McGonagall to correct herself, however they both allow the silence to stretch on and with every breath the tension thickens. Umbridge is the first to break, giving one of her fake coughs and dropping her eyes from the stern woman standing close to the door. Then her attention is firmly fixed back on me and I try to meet her gaze through every second, paying little mind to the tremors that have settled all across my shoulders. "We recently procured this." She takes a strip of parchment from her desk, holding the top edge and presenting it for me to see. She watches my grip tighten on the arms of the chair as I steadfastly refuse to touch it. "Do you know what it is?"

From the moment I saw Hermione's handwriting across the top I knew what it was. It's that list that I couldn't put my name on. It's the name of every person in Dumbledore's Army and indisputable proof that we had been breaking the law. "It looks like a list." I say, trying to remain calm. If she had anything concrete she would already have me packing my bags or worse.

"Yes we had managed to deduce that." She says sharply and for the first time I see her truly lose her composure and I tilt my head to the side in interest. She doesn't have anything on me and if how quickly her mask slipped is anything to go by she doesn't have much on anyone else either. She's brought me here because there is no way I can know how much she has already been able to uncover and she hopes to trick me into revealing more than I should. "However there is this mark here…" She uses her index finger to point out the small symbol I had drawn so many months ago. "That we are having a little trouble in identifying."

"Looks a bit like an 'X'. I don't think I know of any students name starting with that letter." I say. It actually looks a bit more like a star. Three lines crossed through at the centre but playing dumb is the best weapon in my arsenal at the moment.

"I hardly think it would be an initial." She pushes it closer until the crisp parchment almost brushes my nose. "Take a closer look."

Fortunately, lying is something I excel in. So after dropping my eyes to the symbol and taking a moment to look thoughtful I slowly shake my head. "Sorry professor, I've never seen it before."

"You're certain." She asks, leaning still closer, so close in fact that I feel her breath ghosting across my cheek and have to restrain myself from forcibly pushing her away from me. She watches me nod and leans back, placing the parchment back onto her desk. "That is a pity." She says in a disapproving tone, and her heals click with every step as she goes around the other side of her desk. "Still, no matter. I was just telling the minister about your little violent episode at the Quidditch pitch."

Everything inside of me drops a few inches, my heart, my stomach, my throat. Cornelius Fudge, minister of magic, I knew I recognised him. The most bigoted minister to serve in over a hundred years and here I am sitting in front of him with wolfs blood flowing through my veins, purposely, even is subtly, being defiant.

"Yes." The minister says slowly, his eyes raking over me in a way that I find less than comforting. "We had been discussing that."

"We've been having a little bit of a disagreement you see." She says and the corners of her mouth climber impossibly high, making every inch of my skin crawl. "I said that it was an isolated incident. That you're a model student and you'd be able to shed some light on this, list." Even as she speaks she flicks her finger at the corner of the parchment. "It does appear that I was wrong. And as my first act as Headmistress for this school…"

I lean forward in my seat cutting off her speech. "I'm sorry, I must have misheard. Could you repeated that Professor?" My voice is shaking and I'm making no effort to stop it.

"As I was saying, my first act as headmistress will be to remove such a dangerous…" She pauses, just long enough to have every iota of my attention before she continues, "animal from the rest of the student body."

Feeling numb, from the tips of my fingers to the soles of my feet I fall against the backrest and try to remember how to breathe. "You're expelling me."

"Oh no. Whatever gave you that idea?" Umbridge begins to laugh and the Minster of Magic begins to chuckle along with her. "Nothing so sinister. We're just going to limit your contact with, other people."

McGonagall takes a few steps forward and I feel her hand close over my shoulder. I'm not certain if she is trying to keep me upright or show some form of support but I am grateful for both. "That isn't exactly humane, Dolores."

"Well," She begins lacing her fingers together. "She's not exactly human, Minerva." Their gazes lock for several moment, some unspoken battle raging between them.

"I think that's a splendid idea." The clueless minister chimes in and either misses or chooses to ignore the seething look sent in his direction by the deputy head. He's far too busy grinning down at me.

A look of absolute joy spreads across Umbridge's face and she give an uncontrollable squeak with such vigour it rises her from her seat a few inches before she settles herself. "Now Draco, if you would be so kind."

"I hardly think that will be necessary." McGonagall cuts in, pulling her robes straight to show her discomfort. Her grip tightens on my shoulder and slowly my eyes rise up and along the tall woman's body, when my gaze reaches her piercing pools of emerald, she curtly tilts her head in an indication for me to follow her.

Slowly I stand, needing to use the full force of my arms because my knees are shaking so much they refuse to cooperate. I'm, half way out the door when a soft sound of 'Hem hem.' Can be heard from behind the desk and once again each of my muscles clench. I turn my head, hoping that I will not have to re-enter the room. Umbridge has angled her features in such a way that she is able to look down her nose at me even with her head so much lower than mine, if it were anyone else I might commend the achievement. Her long nail taps reputedly against her desk in a show of impatience, making one of my eyes twitch to the maddening rhythm. "Aren't we forgetting something?" I can feel the look of question spread across my face. "Your wand."

Rage is a strange emotion, I don't know if it's the same with other people but when it hits me, it hits hard and fast. Sometimes you can try for hours, to prod at me looking for a reaction and I can let it roll off me, show you that it has no effect because it doesn't, not really. Then other times, like right now, it can take but a single word and then all I can see is red. Blazing and hot, calling for some form of retribution.

Two strides, that's all it takes and I am leaning over, my wand held tightly in my grasp. Both hands hit the desk and over my ragged breaths I meet her gaze. I could, it would be so easy, all I would need to do is flick my wrist and take something from her. Her mobility, her sight, I even briefly consider her life, even with these witnesses. Because in my mind, ridded and fogged with anger, every second of incarceration would be worth it, just to see if she would be surprised or not.

For several long moments I just stand and stare at her, picking out her heartbeat amongst the group of people. It faltered as my fists struck the solid mahogany but other than that it has remained steady. Now I cannot decide if she truly has no fear, or if she cannot fathom exactly how dangerous I can be, werewolf or not. Which makes her either insane or a fool.

She continues to remain quiet, slowly and calmly leaning back in her seat. Daring me to do something, anything in front of the Minister of Magic himself, whom I might add is feeling a twinge of fear over my reaction. I can smell it, I can taste it, heavy and thick in the air. I don't know if it's the instincts of the wolf or my own heartless character but it makes my mouth water.

Something inside me, some tiny spark of rationalisation, holds my shaking hand still. Keeps any hexes or curses out of my mind and far from the tip of my tongue, removing the temptation completely.

I truly do not know if I win or lose the silent skirmish between Umbridge and I. Or even the war that is happening within my very skin but I end up flinging my wand at her and storming from the room. Pulling the door closed behind me with so much vigour that it shudders on its hinges. I don't give it a second glance or even wait for the consequences of my actions to hit, I just march down the corridor, in the vague direction of the broom cupboard that has been cleared out and called my quarters.

"That was hardly the cleverest way to handle that." McGonagall starts and even though she has to jog every other step to keep up with my furious stride it does not show in either her stance or voice.

"No it wasn't." I agree, cutting my gaze back towards the Transfiguration teacher. "But what else can she do to me?" Sharply I step to the side and turn the corner.

Her long fingers cut into my flesh and she puts a burning grip to my upper arm and stops me missteps. "It may seem that way now but she cannot hold you indefinably." She lets out a long breath through her nose and brings herself much closer to me, lowering her voice to a whisper. "I am not the only member of staff that does not agree with this. Rest assured it will not be like this forever."

I can feel the fatigue building in my veins that always follows such an outburst. "She's appointed herself Headmistress. A title you should hold Professor. She's also the school's High Inquisitor. A position created just to give her power. Tell me please, how do you fight that?"

Her lips press into a tight, thin line and she lowers her gaze to the floor, without an answer, without any ray of genuine hope, all she can do is look away. I don't wait for her to respond, guilt weighing heavily on my shoulders at making her feel so helpless. So I turn and just keep walking, granted at a much slower, much more resigned pace then before but I still keep moving. Slumping towards the enviable. McGonagall is quickly a silent presence at my side and when I reach my rooms the alterations have already been made.

The door stands slightly ajar, a shiny gold lock having been added to the ageing wood. Clearly they were able to break through my basic wards but when I reach the opening I find the room itself untouched.

Slowly I walk beneath the threshold and take another look at the damp walls, my knees already beginning to twinge in protest.

"Is there anything I can get you, before…?" The deputy head asks indicating the door.

"The key?" I say attempting at a jest; it does pull at her cheeks in a tight, sad smile. "Can you get a message to Hermione for me?"

"Of course I can." She says, all manner of anger she held only moments ago melting away leavening her sombre. "Is there anything special you'd like me to tell her?"

I consider this for only a moment before remembering that this woman is my Teacher and significantly older than me, it would not do to have her see me as weak or dare I say sappy. "Just what happened. They're all safe aren't they?" I ask, the fate of the other members only just dawning on me.

She nods slowly. "It was why the Headmaster had to leave so suddenly." She laces her fingers together and holds her arms down rigidly, glaring daggers at the door, shifting from foot to foot and clearing her throat giving me the distinct impression that she is delaying closing me in for as long as she is able.

"It's okay professor," I begin trying to alleviate some tension and to some extent guilt and take a seat on the bed. I am able to ignore its loud creak but it makes her eyebrows shoot up. "It could be worse." Although, at this very moment I can't actually think exactly how it could be any worse, while I still remain in the castle, I'm sure I'll have enough time to think about it though.

The hand closes over the shiny gold lock and slowly begins to swing it closed. Not having to lift it from the floor, so someone must have taken the time to repair the hinge. Strange how now that it is no longer part of my living quarters how noticeable it is because it was so fitting that even the door was so withered with age that couldn't function properly. Wouldn't have exactly made for a secure cell though would it?

Her shining eyes are the last thing I see, dropping my head into my waiting hands the moment I hear the lock slide into place. Throwing the room into shadows and at once I wish that I had requested the deputy head to have lit a candle for me before she departed.

'That could have gone better.' Ammy comments as we both listen to McGonagall heals clicking along the stone flooring.

I go to heave a sigh but end up laughing. The absurdity of the situation finally settling in and I have no choice but the laugh or cry. The latter I'm not even certain I would survive without Hermione's guidance. "No it couldn't." I mumble sliding my hands down my face and pulling the skin taught. "Not with her running the school." Honestly I'm surprised I managed to escape that room with little more than a snide, passive reprimand and this imprisonment. "Could almost count myself lucky."

'Can we do nothing?" She queries, an edge to her voice that I've never heard before, somewhere between nervous and fearful.

My eyes land on the shiny new locking mechanism holding me here, even going as far as to reach out and touch the cold smooth surface. The tips of my fingertips press against the edges of the keyhole, not quite large enough for any of my digits to fit inside and tamper with the device, but still a substantial enough size to be imposing. I feel certain that it was the whole point of the design. "Not without a wand. Even then I don't know if I would have the skill for something like this."

She makes a low sound of either disappointment or deep contemplation and in this instance she is the first to fall into an uneasy silence. Even though I can feel her quickly becoming disquieted, somewhere along my spine and deep in the back of my head, I am left to my own thoughts, which is a dangerous concept in itself.

Already I can feel my skin being to crawl. It always happens but usually it takes longer. That feeling that there is no escape, no way out. Eventually the creepy feeling will stop and I'll wonder why I ever cursed it, it's so much more bearable than the strange psychological weight my mind places over my chest. Halting breath and movement, even coherent thought. Needing to push those depressing images away, as I can already begin to feel the first effect I push against my knees to stand. Muscles twitching and puling, by now knowing what is install for them, already protesting what is to come.

Lifting my hands above my head they are forced into a stretch and I try to extend the bounders of my imagination. I need something to occupy my mind as where it leads my body will follow. I have enough experience to know that. At that thought I pull up short, I am well versed the process of slowly going stir crazy but never before has it come about in such a short space of time, which begs the question, "Is that you or me?" She makes a low hum in the back of my head in indicate she is listening but makes no further comment. "That almost burning need to be free."

'Could be you, could be I. Then again it could be both of us. So much to feel in just one skin.' She says slowly, her voice taking on a majestic edge.

"If that's the case," I begin pulling at my chair and taking a seat, now faced with a philosophical quandary that I know given enough incentive I can pour enough energy into it to almost forget about my surroundings. Strange to think that if I were not presented with an undefined amount of time without only Ammy for company I wound never have the courage to ask, "Where I end and you begin?"

'At the beginning and end of us both.' She says then pauses. Not for any effect but just to see how I would perceive her words. In truth I am uncertain how I should react to such a concept, that we could possibly both be one entity yet somehow completely separate.

"Must you always be so cryptic?" I reach behind me for my wand to light a candle and only when I am met with thin air do I remember that it has been removed from about my person. Sighing in frustration I take a seat at my desk, curling my hands into fists and resting my chin upon them.

She heaves a long-suffering sigh that I very almost duplicate before answering me. 'Must you always ask questions that I have no answer too?'

"You're a goddess." I remark, still trying to come up with some why of striking a flame. I know the book that Professor Snape gifted me is in my trunk but the small amount of light filtering in beneath the door is hardly enough for me to read by. Did she have to take my wand?

'Some things are a mystery to even us.' She comments and I feel her curious touch beneath my skin as she explores my frustration. 'What troubles you?'

"I don't suppose with all the raw power of the sun you could light a candle?"

I almost have the impression that she holds herself back from laughing judging by the titter laced throughout her voice. 'Not while confined to the body of a mortal. You humans are quite limited in that regard."

Making a sound low in the back of my throat I lean back against the old withered chair, ignoring the shift of wood and press the heal of each palm deep into my eyes. "I keep forgetting you're only here to keep me alive."

'I have already served my purpose, I can do little more in that regard.'

"What?" Her words push me forward so my weight rests much more firmly on the soles of my feet.

'I came to you so you could survive the fall and the attack of the wolf that made you.' She states very slowly. Sounding certain that I should already be aware of this. 'Did I not make this clear?'

"No." I may not have actively analysed wheat her presence would mean for my survival, I think I had just naturally assumed that she would keep my alive until I had outlived my usefulness. Then she could simply throw me away, never had I thought that this gift of line had only been valid for a single time. Only just now, am I coming to the conclusion that Ammy cannot understand that I am unable to simply pick the answers from her mind as and when I choose. So I must poke and prod until I have wrangled every nugget of truth that I need, piece by piece. "But you're a goddess." I repeat again, always coming back to that one fact thinking that it should be the answer to everything, clearly it's a little more convoluted than that.

'But you are not.' I feel her sorrow deep in the pit of my belly, unsettled that she must have this conversation with me, the feeling probably extenuated by our current circumstances. 'Accept my apologies I thought you understood. I inhabit parts of you but while in this form, I am not physical in any sense of the word. Nothing more than… than…' I can almost feel her searching for an adequate metaphor and if she had eyes I am certain they would have found the ceiling in search of inspiration. 'Than, a whisper in your ear, a presence in your mind. My abilities are restricted to my form not yours.'

I can feel myself protesting even before my tongue begins to move. It clambers up my throat in a desperate bid to be heard, to try and go back to that blissful ignorance that as shrouded me for the past days. "But the sun heals me. It did heal me. I watched it."

The noise she makes might once have been a word, or at the very least the beginnings of one before she choked to keep it back. 'That is a little more complex.' She pauses and I'm uncertain if she can feel the shift in my facial features for her to continue or if she simple decides to fill the silence that my shock has left behind. 'The sun and I have a unique relationship. As such magic's will bleed into one another, it will seek me and this does supply you with a modicum of protection, but demise even when reaping the full benefits of that is still very possible. I thought you were aware of this'

"I only know what you tell me." I answer once more leaning back and even going so far as to lift my feet and cross them over the surface of the desk. Almost conversed that if the chair does eventually succumb to the weight, I am forced to sit so close to the bed that it will catch me should I fall anyway.

It takes me a moment but I manage force down the initial panic that this revelation had provoked, looking at it objectively and if I'm honest its not so much of a drawn back as my initial fright had insisted. It's no different than when I had been completely human. Where before I would be forced to weight for another witch or wizard to hell all my ills now I must just pass the time until the sun rises. Just one more thing I will have to learn to live with.

Somewhere at the very edges of my perception a steady rhythm catches my attention, I don't know why I pick out that one sound in the chaos around the school. Considering how much of the activity going on even now that I am able to hear with such clarity that I might as well be in the room, it's this one sound that latches onto my attention and will not let go. Footsteps, steady and lethargic somehow I know that they are coming here, which is absurd they could be going anywhere in the castle but something about that rhythm, where those shoes strike off stone in this very moment. Somehow it all equates to that person making their way here and once more ears zero in on the specific location so does my nose.

One breath and then another but still I do not wholly recognise the scent. That's not to say I'm not familiar with it, the name of its owner on the very tip of my tongue but the harder I try to grasp onto it the quicker it is chased away.

I'm not exactly left in suspense for very long, already on my feet when a key is fitted into the lock and I so close to the door when it begins to turn that I might as well press myself against it. For a fleeting instant I contemplate pausing sharply against the door and fleeing the castle but with no way of reaching anyway I would deem safe that particular impulse is squashed relatively easily.

When the door swings open I feel my eyes close in annoyance. Before me with her wand outstretched in such a pose that I find it laughable that she truly thinks she looks imposing stands Nancy Ivybridge. Another Slytherin, in my year, a half blood but such a devote follower of the Dark Lords teachings would never give up that information freely. Though I have shared a bedroom with the girl for four years I don't think any exchange we have ever had pass between us could be considered wholly civil, ever passing word laced with a threat or a deprecating tone. Something I confess is completely my doing.

The reason for my annoyance is this. She can see me. Every move I make, every sly word in another's ear. She has always been able to see me doing it, not necessarily why or what outcome I hoped to achieve but when I was manipulating the people around me into a position of my design she would always be there to notice what I had done.

"Hello Desay." She says, her voice I'm certain is only grating to me because of how much she had been able to scupper my plans in the past.

Even after grunting to dislodge a scathing reply I am able to remain polite. "Nancy. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She gives a short of laughter, seeing right through the maneuver as she always does and even my civil tongue will not give her cause to lower her weapon. "Come on."

"What? No pleasantries?" Even as I make my comment I obey the command. Stepping out and letting her reach out to close the door behind me.

"Stay in front of me." She says, flicking the end of her wand to indicate the direction I should begin to travel. Where she may not be the best witch when it comes to actually casting spells she is very astute at keeping herself safe in situations like this.

I don't try for any further conversation, it's pointless, instead I follow the clipped instructions that are fed to me and end up in the girl's bathroom on the ground floor. She presses her back against the door, presumably to prevent us from being disturbed and simply says. "You have twenty minuets."

"You can be a heartless bitch, can't you?" I say, all pretence at trying to remain yielding and pleasant forgotten. It is just a waste of energy, so instead I try to see if I can unsettle her by playing the game by her rules. I don't even meet her eyes after I have spoken, finding the hands of my watch far more interesting, if I'm to have such a short stretch of time during the day to use the amenities each day, I'll be dammed before I lose a single second.

Her presence may be somewhat disturbing as I relive myself and then make a point of filling the sink with hot water to rinse my face as well as my hands, but I try not to let that fact show too much. Cupping the water in both of my hands I bring it to my cheeks and upon hearing her heavily sigh in frustration that I would take so long, I shot her a glare from under my eyebrows, a tiny fleck of silver catching my attention at the same time. "That's a nice badge. Is it new?" My words may in some circles be perceived as friendly but there isn't a person alive that would say the tone of my voice is such.

"Why are you looking at my chest?" She says and my muscles freeze for a moment at the implications of her words.

With droplets of water still sliding along my cheeks and dripping off my chin I turn to her with what I know to be a deeply confused expression. "What?"

For the first time she takes the aim of her wand off me, finding the need to cross her arms across her modest bosom a much more necessary action. "There isn't any need to look at me that way."

For a moment I just stand and blink, still half bent over the basin and trying to convince myself that what I have just heard I must have misconstrued because the conclusion I'm drawing is just absurd. "You think I'm attracted to you?"

She doesn't answer my question, well not directly. Holding herself so ridged with fear she might as well had screamed. It's only when I start laughing that she moves. "What's so funny?" I try not to answer and for some reason I even try to hide my amusement from her by burying my face in a towel but nothing can stone the laugher running along my spine to wrack through my entire body. "What's so funny?" She repeats and this time a shriek pulls the pitch of her voice to a deafening level.

I shake my head and use the towel the methodically dry my hands. Turning to rest my hip against the counter and shake my head. "You think that because I'm attracted to another witch I would automatically want to jump into bed with you. That's ridiculous."

"It stands to reason." She begins to argue, even going as far as to back up a step from me.

"No it doesn't." I am finally able to gather myself enough to halt the mirth from showing in my voice but there is nothing I can do about the maddening grin still playing on my lips. "Boys can be attracted to any girl. No one assumes they are attracted to every girl. It's almost the same thing." I try to explain and finding it difficult, as of late it is not exactly as if I have held the emotional high ground over anyone who I have been in close proximity to. This must be how Ginny and Hermione see me, someone trying to grasp the concept of sentiment and coming to the wrong conclusions, time and time again.

Her eyebrows lower to hood over her eyes and all I can do is watch her, if I could glimpse into the past I'm sure that's exactly what I would look like. Trying to understand some strange notion that to anyone else in the world would come, as naturally as breathing but to people like Nancy and I, we have to pull it apart and examine it because it doesn't fit into our nice tidy world. Where blood purity rules and anything outside of normality should be feared and avoided, or destroyed.

For years we have been ad odds with one another and it's not until I see that look on her face that I notice how similar we once were. Another time, another place, another set of personal objective we might just have become friends but back then, when it had been an option I don't think I was even capable of friendship.

"I don't think I understand." She says after a lengthy pause and I feel my stomach drop a few inches. Of coarse she wouldn't understand. It took me months of self-reflection and observation of the group of Gryffindors that I have befriended. I can hardly expect her to see it with any sort of clarity after a single conversation.

All my amusement is quick to disappear and I find myself staring intently at the tiled floor, wadding up my towel and throwing it against the side. "No, I don't think I expected you to." I take a deep breath and try to push this interaction to the back of my mind, I can ponder it later but right now there is something else I need to know. "Are you going to tell me what the badge is for or not?"


	43. Chapter 43: Echo's in the Mirror

Chapter 43

The Inquisitorial Squad, Umbridge's trusted inner circle; filled to the brim with liars, scoundrels and thieves. If you ask me I think she might have missed the point of a trusted inner circle but then again she is fast running out of allies and when the rouges and villains are all that you have left you'll welcome them with open arms.

That was all I had managed to get out of Nancy in the short time I had been afforded for using the facilities, I'm not surprised when she is the one sent to retrieve me half an hour before my lessons are to start the following day. When the door is pulled open, the tip of her wand is once more pointed in my direction and her grip tightens significantly upon receiving the dark look that I already have upon my face.

Being awake so early each morning used to provide me adequate time for both grooming and breakfast. However when the door to my chamber isn't unlocked until this time I am forced to choose between the two. Neither of us says anything but she does take a step backwards when I invade her personal space, using my excessive height to the fullest effect. She must not see me reach out to throw the door closed because her whole body jumps at the noise of it slamming too. "Could you have cut it any finer?" I can feel the instincts of the beast inside me clambering up my throat, pacing around in my chest and begging for violence.

When she speaks her voice begins to shake but her wrist remains as steady as a rock, a skill that may one day save her life. "I'm just following instructions."

"All that power," I give a snort of laughter and abruptly turn in the direction of the Great Hall. "so long as you keep bowing to her."

To say my stride had been quick would have been an understatement; the combination of being left with no room to pace, along with not being trusted enough to travel from one part of the school to the other sending my rage and frustration into a vicious cycle; going round and round; building on itself and mounting to an unbearable degree, quickly pushing me into a pace to relive some of the tension. She has to jog a few steps but soon she catches up, careful to keep a full pace between us. "It won't be like that forever." However when I stop and turn it is just as abruptly, she unknowingly loses that ground she had been so careful to keep between the two of us, only narrowly missing crashing into the length of my body.

"No. It won't always be Umbridge." I feel my jaw clench and most of my face twitch in annoyance. I have to remove my features from her sights, before she can see the emotion and play on it further. So with another jerky movement I return to my hurried journey along the maze of hallways. "But there'll always be someone. Someone's will that you have to bend to, just so they give you power that you don't deserve." The mere thought of this riles me up even further but I couldn't tell you why. Had that not been my life's plan, not so long ago? Perhaps that's why. That's all I would have ever been, a servant to another and I would have been content; being told how to live, how to die; what to think, what to feel.

I just couldn't do that anymore, I've tasted free will and I no longer wish to return it. This disorder, this thing that happened to me that once disgusted me so much, that I thought would cage me and tether me to the ground has ended up liberating me in such unexpected ways.

"You wanted that power once." She says; the defensiveness in her voice is hard to miss.

I don't turn towards her, I can't because I don't know what I'll do if I see what expression she is wearing. That grim determination to please, I can remember the feel of it. It's not just on your face it's in your skin, slithering through bone and muscle with little to no effort. It takes over your life and it becomes everything that means anything to you. "Once." I relent, my lip pulling up in a show of revulsion. "I learned that I didn't need to adhere to another person's will, just so they could tell me my life was worth living."

She scoffs at that. "Isn't that exactly what you do with your Mudblood?" This time she anticipates that her words will make me halt but I can't face her. Not without striking out. "You go out of your way to please her, so she'll give you what you want. It's no different."

"It is different." Without meaning to I've turned on the spot and stepped forward, feeling the tip of her wand pressing deeply against my chest. I can't bring myself to care that all she would need to do is utter two little words and I would cease to breathe. "It's worlds apart. You will bend and you will kneel. For what? Praise that will never, can never be offered, or to spare yourself the pain of a reprimand. Where yes I would let the world bend and break me. Suffer all her ills so she has no need to but not because she would offer me anything in return. I'd do it because I can't bear to see her cry." For a long moment I hold Nancy's gaze, hunting for a shred of comprehension that I know can never be there and when she proves me right, when all she can do is stand and stare in bewilderment I feel myself deflate. Every breath of wind stripped from my sails and I can't look at her anymore, so I find the floor. "I don't expect you to understand the distinction but that's why."

Slowly I feel her wand pull away from my breastplate and she drops her arm to aim it harmlessly to the floor. "What's so special about her?"

"I love her." I answer, plain and simple; catching her deep frown as I look up, then turn to make my way to the woman we had been discussing.

Nancy for her part is shocked into silence. Catching up with me and not feeling the need to keep her wand trained on me at all times, but still a constant escort. My words appear to have altered her perception of me, if only slightly, but in no way override her orders.

When I enter the Great Hall I automatically turn towards the Gryffindor table only hindered for a moment with a restringing hand on my arm. She tries to tell me that I can't sit at that part of the Hall, that I am no longer permitted. I don't have to threaten her with either my words or my body all I have to do is ask her to stop me and I mean it. If she had truly pressed the issue I would have relented, all the fight sucked right out of me, but she doesn't. I don't know if it's our conversation or the desperation I can feel blazing in my eyes that I have no wish to squash down until they appear cold and dead but she just lets me go.

I don't need a second chance; I reached out and grab the first with both hands. Never halting in my step, I weave between the masses of bodies, trying to make my way there while still remaining unnoticed. I don't glance up; if I see Umbridge's eyes on me I'll know my time will be limited. She'll have to take action but I am uncertain if she will remove me from where I sit; if she will draw attention to my disobedience in such a public environment or not, but she will have to take some action.

When I reach the point along the benches I am quick to step over, not even taking a moment to greet anyone, and make a point of lowering my head to it is resting on my fist. Just to try and appear casual and keep my head lower than everyone else.

Hermione as ever is highly observant and takes note of my position, almost immediately having to hold herself back from flinging her arms around me and settling for reaching beneath the table to grip at my thigh; to either comfort me or just hold on tightly it doesn't matter, I'm sure it succeeds in both. "Are you okay?" She asks, her soulful brown eyes scanning over the visible skin for any sign of damage.

My fingers gently close around hers and I feel myself smile at her. "I'm better now."

Ginny sitting across the table chooses this moment to groan low in her throat. "You're doing that charming thing again." She puts down her knife and fork and makes a bridge with her hands to rest her chin upon. "On the one hand it's sickeningly cute, on the other you have to teach me how you do that."

Already the younger redhead has raised my spirits, I have no idea how she does it but it usually only takes a sentence. "It helps when I mean it." Leaning forward I use my free hand to point in a faux threatening way across the table at her. "And for the record, I am not cute."

"Aww." Hermione coos at the same moment as squeezing my thigh. "You're adorable when you say things like that."

I can't muster enough malice in me to even scowl in her direction, that doesn't stop me appearing affronted though. "Well that's just…" For a moment I search my mind for the correct word. My lips already poised to form speech. "Just cheating."

She tries unsuccessfully to hold back her giggle, reaching out to cup my cheek in her hand and draw me closer to her. "I didn't think you'd be adverse to a little foul play." As she finishes her sentence her lips close over mine, just one night away from her bed and this form of contact feels very understated and far removed from how I would truly wish to greet her but for now I'll just have to settle for the breadcrumbs.

When I pull back I can feel the breath that she had very effortlessly removed from my lungs pulled back into my body from between my teeth. "Oh, I don't mind." Reaching out my thumb brushes the tip of her nose and judging by the intense look in her eyes I'm not the only one who wishes we could be somewhere else with much more time to show our affection. "I just expected better from you." With just a blink of my eyes and a heaved sigh my mood turns serious, if only for a minute. "What happened last night?"

Harry is the first to speak from between his gritted teeth cutting off the others in the group. "We got snitched on."

My forehead creases in a frown, his behaviour is so out of character that I can't help but call him on it. "Taking it a little personally aren't you?"

When those green eyes come at me, full of pain and rage I physically pull back, never before have I seen this boy look angry but now that I have I wish never to be the cause of his ire.

Hermione comes to my rescue, calmly interjecting and stopping the rant that I can see building in Harry's chest. "It was one of Cho's friends?" at her words all I can really do is blink at her in incomprehension. "Harry and Cho are…" At the look the black haired boy shoots her way she is quick to correct herself. "Were an item."

For a moment my gaze meets Ginny's only to find them wide and her head shaking from side to side with such a slight movement it is hardly visible. The motion is slight but she might as well have been shouting at me not to bring up her attraction to the boy. "Why does no one think to tell me these things?"

"Well…" Ron begins but is rudely interrupted by another taking a seat with us.

Nancy has the sourest of looks spread across her face as she takes a seat opposite me, a pair of hands pushing against her shoulders to make sure she remains seated. Looking along the line of the arms I am unsurprised to find Umbridge attached to them; the smile playing at the edges of her cheeks that are so strained that it pulls at the crow's feet around her eyes. "Well isn't this cosy. Isn't it?" She's met with nothing more than the silence of discontent, not as though she's going to let that stop her. Her fingers dig into Nancy's shoulders so tightly that she winces under the pressure and sinks lower in her seat, the silent message clear. "Do enjoy your meal." She holds her eyes open so rigidly they must be burning in protest for her to blink and I can see her teeth grinding beneath her skin but she must know she will not get anything while standing over us because with a final push downwards she turns and heads back towards the staff table. Clearly she noticed where I was seated this morning.

Nancy slumps low in her seat and tries to cover her face from the glares that must be being sent to her from the Slytherin table behind me; turning her head behind her shielding hand to watch Umbridge walking away before leaning over the table so she can jab a finger in my direction and say in a whispered hiss, "This is your fault."

"Quite possibly." I concede, slightly taken aback by the abrupt turn in events.

"Stop me, she says. Knowing full well I bloody won't." Nancy starts reaching out for a slice of toast and I have to admit that it's true. Where I didn't exactly know where the interaction would lead I wasn't surprised by the outcome. "Knowing that she would sit me over here, with these…" She pauses to look around at the four friends all staring at her with slacked jaws, lifting her lip in a clear show of disgust. "People. Tell me, honestly do you just enjoy making my day a little more miserable?"

"Well." I begin but have nothing to add to that sentence. I am loath to admit it but Umbridge has just surprised me. It's not something that happens to me very often. Yes, admittedly the circumstances that have surrounded me have been somewhat shocking as of late but that isn't people's reaction, which is something that I can usually predict with a high degree of accuracy. There are usually several responses any individual can give but it's not often that I miss anything.

People can be so easy to both manipulate and predict, they all have personal boundaries that they will not cross and even if they do it's only marginally, a single toe stepping out of line. Even Ginny with her wildly erratic behaviour and train of thought are still confined to a set parameter. It was just so different to me that it took me a while to figure it out. However Umbridge lead a member of her personal team by force and then sat her before me. Didn't order it of her, didn't force me to move. She made a very public display of the whole thing, not a person in this room would have been able to miss it and that, that is just so far removed from anything I had thought would happen its frightening.

I'm so perplexed by this that I barely even notice my hand untangling itself from around Hermione to rub across my chin. If her restrictions aren't exactly where I thought they were that changes everything. How many times did I push at those outer limits? Just to make her do something or say something and she did. Every time, she did exactly as predicted. Either the parameters have changed, or I had been gravely mistaken; both are a worry.

Everything that had once been in Nancy's hands lands on her plate, food, cutlery and even a piece of jewellery, all but forgotten in front of her. She leans heavily over the table, completely disregarding my disorder to get as close as possible without drawing attention. "Tell me you knew she would do that."

Normally I would lie through my back teeth, being able to forecast people's reactions is easily one of my most useful skills and it would not do to have me appear lacking. However Nancy is not Umbridge and she is predictable, she'd be able to see me doing it, maybe not right away but she'll notice, then again it doesn't really matter her reaction would still be the same. "I didn't see that one coming."

Shock: that's what must make her face drop to such a degree in such a short space of time and slowly fall back into her seat. "You're obviously lying."

"Sorry." I say quietly curling my tongue around my molars in thought for a second. "Not this time."

"Oh." She clears her throat, both of her thumbs running over the tips of her fingers in a nervous gesture. "That's a… very frightening thought."

"My thought's exactly."

"I don't see what the big deal is." Ginny cuts in, probably because she cannot stand to stay quiet for a single moment longer. "Jamie can get things wrong every now and then." As she say's this she points her empty fork in my direction but still directs her eyes towards Nancy sitting at her side.

"Jamie?" Nancy asks, first looking towards the younger redhead and upon hearing me groan loudly and dropping my forehead into my hand I can feel her eyes boring into the top of my bowed head. "Jamie? Really?"

I feel myself growl at her instantly picking up on that particular nickname. Not really wanting to see the smirk that I can hear in her voice I speak to the table, not the people seated at it. "Make your point Ivybridge."

"How very unisex of you."

At this I do lift my eyes and that smirk is still there. "That's not exactly what I meant."

The edges of her lips lift for only a moment, just to relay that she had known exactly what I had meant and if we had not been in such a public place I might just have reached across the table to push her nose into some porridge. "I don't think you quite understand…" She turns back towards Ginny and I can see that she is having some trouble actually remembering her name but while remaining true to her breading she can hardly admit fault so instead pulls a superior air into her tone as she addresses the younger girl. "Weasley." Only through an immense show of willpower do I restrain myself from rolling my eyes, distracting myself by pouring myself a goblet of pumpkin juice and turning to rest my eyes on Umbridge. "Jamie here," She puts more emphasis on my nickname that is strictly necessary and by the titter in her voice I know she has seen my darkening look, even though it is not directed at her. "She doesn't miss things like this. Always a step ahead, isn't that right? Jamie." She makes a point of pausing for a moment before addressing me and doesn't flinch when I turn my cold blue eyes in her direction. "If even you, didn't expect this, something changed."

"It did." Rubbing my hands together I run a few more possibilities through my head but there is only really one thing that I had overlooked. "She became headmistress."

"Yeah, but we already knew that." Nancy says and it only takes a split second of contemplation for her to come to the same conclusion I have. When her eyes close, that's the moment when I know she understands. "Oh bugger, I'm part of her personal bloody army."

Finally brining my goblet to my lips I lean forward and cross one arm over my body to rest the length of it along the table's edge; then resting the iron down onto the still empty ceramic plate, my appetite deserting me. "What do you want from me? Sympathy?"

"Well that would be nice." Nancy says, annoyed with her current predicament but not allowing it to spoil her breakfast and she retrieves her toast from her plate. "Not that you're even capable of that emotion."

I am only halted from sending across some scathing reply by the pressure against my thigh. Hermione who has still yet to remove her grip from me gathers my attention in an instant wearing a very confused expression. "I'm sorry, but I don't think any of us know what you two are talking about."

"Good." Nancy says while pushing a half mouthful of toast into her cheek.

I send her yet another look and resist the temptation to strike out with my foot under the table, but only just. "It's about power. When we have it we react differently to when we want it. The power shifted and I didn't notice."

"Neither did I." Ivybridge admits. "How did we both manage that?"

"She already held the title of High Inquisitor for so long and we're both very stupid." I reply, already recalibrating all of my expectations and none of it looks good.

Ginny leans forward, always the willing student whenever it comes to matters like this, flaying her hand around to accompany her speech, making Nancy back up before she takes an accidental blow to the nose. "So I understand that Umbridge has more power and that makes her more daring." She pauses for a moment and looks at me expectantly, just checking that she had grasped the concept correctly, at my nod she continues. "What does that mean she's capable of now?"

Her question is one I had been contemplating, something that is slowly making my skin turn cold but what really makes my blood turn to ice is Nancy confirming my suspicions. "Anything."

"Everything," I put in slowly, it feels off to agree with this girl but she's picking up on everything just as quickly as I am. "Even her trusted few might want to watch their backs." I couldn't help but add that in a meaningful tone of voice; a warning, not a threat that might just unhinge her enough to press her to my advantage.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry." I needn't have bothered; she's already caught up to the extent that the circumstances themselves had been enough. "I'm sure they intend to."

"So," Hermione begins, finally taking her palm from my flesh and I immediately miss its heat. "This is how the other half live, with thinly veiled threats and double layered conversations." For a moment we both sit and look at one another, her trying to puzzle out this part of me, while I wonder if when she finally comes to a conclusion I will still be welcome in her arms. "I think I understand you a little better now."

~X~

"So your friends," Nancy starts up a conversation as we wonder around the hallways bathed in the late afternoon sun. "And I use that term with a high amount of trepidation because you just don't have friends."

Feeling myself privately smirk at the observation because she's right, the person she used to share a room with, while no longer exists, was in no way capable of that kind of relationship, with anyone. "Strange, isn't it?"

"Very." She concedes, with almost no animosity. She has effectively been appointed my personal guard, to make sure I don't get up to any special brand of werewolf type mischief I presume. As a consequence we've been forced to spend much of the day together and keeping up that level of irritation for so long is just exhausting. So at some point between History of Magic and Potions we reached some sort of unspoken truce. Not really anything that can really be built upon but just enough so we don't end up killing each other whenever we pass a dark enough corner. "Well they are all a bit…" She pauses and as I turn my head to glance at her I can see her struggling to keep up the civil tongue she has had in her head since noon. "Quirky."

"I suppose you get a pass for not saying weird." Slowly I run my hands over my hipbones and push them deep into my pockets; slowing my pace to such an extent that it causes an ache in the back of my calves. Technically she is escorting me back to my room, while the Gryffindors may be in Care of Magical creatures I have no further lessons for the day; neither does Nancy which could be why she has been assigned to me, having a timetable that mirrors mine. Anyway it's not as if I'm in any hurry to return to solitary confinement and even Nancy's company is better than not having enough space to move. "Best part is, they think we're unorthodox. The way we speak the way we conduct ourselves, everything."

"What? Are you saying that they think the rest of the world is so open and honest?" She takes note of the hum in the back of my throat and slow nod of my head, giving a snort to show how idiotic she thinks that frame of mind is. "I suppose they'll learn."

"They just trust each other." I defend in a low voice. I know that I have slowly come to terms with the way they treat each other, only just beginning to understand.

She laughs again and I remember that feeling; amused by their naivety because I was so superior, above friendship, love, and trust. It's insane that I once thought them the barbarians. "So what happens when one of them doesn't come through? Doesn't live up to their part of the bargain?"

"It never happens." I answer immediately, not even having to think about it. Where I know that Nancy sees friendship as a relationship of the fair exchange of favours, Hermione and Ginny don't. The touch of her fingers against my upper arm pulls me to a stop and I turn on her, watching her eyebrow rise in question. "If I fell down, they'd pick me up, dust me off and help me on their way. Carry me if they had to but not to ask me for something later; just to help me."

Her eyebrows drop down over her eyes as they close, her forehead closed in a deep show of thought, the whole thing bordering on unimaginable. "Why?" She finally asks exhaling all breath on that single word.

"I don't know." I answer honestly, not quite able to meet her eyes as I do. "I really don't. What I do know is I'd do exactly the same thing."

"But why?" She asks again turning as I do so we may resume our steady pace.

My shoulders pull slowly into a shrug. "I don't have an answer for that."

"Well that's very informative." She says in a sarcastic tone of voice just a moment before I watch something pass over her eyes. Something illusive and just below the surface, pulling her back ridged. It's only when I set my sights in the direction we are walking that I realise what caused the reaction.

Ahead of us, maybe twenty paces Draco flanked by his two bodyguards. All of them marching, not walking; they look like they have a purpose and all eyes are on me. He's holding his bottom lip between his teeth as he draws near. "Desay. What a surprise."

I pull my hands from my pockets, not wishing to leave myself to open and undefended with them held against my legs. Not able to put anything into words without provoking him, I have to settle for sending him a questioning look. At the end of this hallway are my quarters, nothing residing at either end of it that could be considered interesting. So I don't see any reason for him to be here, well apart from the obvious, judging by the glint of apprehension in Goyle's eye.

Draco's face pulls into a smile so full of malice he would put Hades himself to shame and without taking his eyes from mine addresses the girl I had been walking with. "Take a walk Ivybridge."

I can't help but give the girl some credit; she stands her ground and argues back. On some level defending me, even if that isn't her intention. "Draco. I have instructions too…"

She is never allowed to finish her sentence that very well could have been words to my defence as Malfoy's grey eyes shoot to her, spitting fire and almost causing her to forget how to breathe in their intensity. "I said; take a walk."

One good turn, even if uncompleted does deserve another; so drawing on every ounce of indifference that I can muster I let my hip drop into a casual slouch. "Yes Nancy. Go and find yourself a nice safe alibi."

The look that plays across her face is equal parts confused and grateful, my conduct has just done a complete about face in the blink of an eye but this is something she knows I am talented in. The questions that are held tightly behind her teeth are cries of 'why' not 'how' as I have become used to in recent months.

I'm in actual fact giving her an out. Without any responsibility, guilt, or accountability for whatever is to happen next and I'm doing it because I need an ally. Returning to the mentality of the house of Slytherin, I need for her to owe me something. I don't expect the next few moments of my life to be in any way pleasant but one does need to think to the future when I will be in more need of her to defend me. It only takes her a moment to realise this but it doesn't matter, it's not like she can refuse me when the heir of the Malfoy family is agreeing with me. Her teeth grind for only a moment before nodding towards the blond boy, turning on the spot and disappearing.

"Do you have any idea how long Goyle has been waiting for this?" He hooks a thumb over his shoulder at the boy he had indicated, who covers a fist with his other palm and squeezes until the bones crack and grind.

Then there is Crabbe, who is trying with all of his might to remain inconspicuous, while he makes his way behind me, blocking off any escape. "I'd hazard to say a while." I answer, determined not to let him see my fear. No wands have been drawn as of yet, while that does speak to the benefit of my continued existence, physical violence isn't something I am used to.

"Oh so long and here I am making him wait." He holds his hand up with his fingers extended to order the eager boy to remain back. Just for a little longer. "You don't know how hard it's been, holding him back." As Malfoy speaks Goyle growls and I am grateful that these three cannot smell fear as I can, or hear my heart rate double in speed. "But then you had to go and make me look so stupid, in front of the Dark Lord. Gave me the perfect excuse though, to throw your father in front of him. Apparently he squealed like a pig."

"I am truly remorseful that I missed that."

"I'll bet you are." My words case a spark of anger to run across his face and it's in that moment that I realise that he's been able to work out how I had used him. "The Dark Lord made him squeal. Now they're going to make you scream."

"I doubt that." I say, showing much more confidence that I actually feel.

He gives a chucked and gestures for his two goons to begin. I've barely even registered the movement before what feels like a speeding train smashes into the side of my face. I'm knocked off balance and have to take a few paces to the side, already gripping my jaw and trying to push it back into place. Looking up just as another strike appears in my vision. I have just enough time to duck, curling my hands into fists and strike upwards.

It doesn't feel like Goyle's jaw moves the same way mine had, if anything it feels like my fist took more damage than his face, so I step forward and strike out with my other hand catching him on the opposite cheekbone. He takes a step back dazed but all of my focus is on him, not on Crabbe as his foot come out of nowhere and smacks into my stomach.

It feels like I'll never breathe again as I fall heavily onto my knees. What I think must be a fist crashes into my temple and I feel blood, hotly running down my skin; dripping into my eye and I don't even have time to wipe it away before something else collides with me, sending me down onto the cold floor. From that moment I know I've lost any sort of high ground, without my wand I'm useless in actual conflict. So all I can really do is curl my hands around my head, taking every blow from foot, fist, and elbow until their lust for my blood is sated. Only able to hope my will to survive outlasts it.


	44. Chapter 44: First Aid

Chapter 44

I didn't scream; that was the most important thing. Grunted and moaned but never screamed. Never begged or even called for mercy. I think that's what made it last so long. My unwavering pride, keeping my teeth gritted through every blow.

When the whole ordeal begin, I had been certain that I was a strong confident woman but after taking just one too many kicks to the midsection and watching my tormenters stroll away without so much as an insult thrown over the shoulder. I began to feel like a quivering mass of blood and flesh.

It's hard to pinpoint any specific section of pain because everything hurts in one way or another. I don't know how long it is that I just lie there, shaking violently and barely breathing; my tongue feeling entirely too large to be contained in my mouth, making it difficult to swallow the blood flowing from my gums and the inside of my cheeks.

I know I need to stand and walk away but I only manage a shift of my foot before pain explodes everywhere at once; teeth gritting against it and forcing me to take breaths through my nostrils, a groan catching somewhere in my throat with each exhale only to be released a moment later with a burst of air drawing attention to the burning in my lungs and the stinging pain along my ribs.

It takes a moment for my muscles to settle enough for me to be confident in moving them again but my left arm is completely unresponsive, so I lack the manoeuvrability to push myself onto my feet. I have to settle with pushing myself onto my back then I have to wait all over again as the burning all along my skin thunders over ever inch.

Bending my knees for balance and pressing my weight down onto one shuddering arm I am able to push myself into a semi-seated position. Then drive yet more weight on the overtaxed limb to lift part of my lower body from the floor and upon finding a gap in the stone, put weight on my heels to extend my knees, sliding maybe half a foot along the floor towards the wall. My progress so agonisingly slow that by the time my back touches the smooth rock I'm about ready to just succumb to the darkness that is threatening to invade my vision. When situated and after I have wiped the mixture of fresh blood and sweat from my forehead I reach down to grip at my useless wrist and pull the limb across my lap. Under some strange notion that this action might protect it from any further damage but at this point I'm not exactly certain that much more can be done. Not with it burning from the curve of my shoulder all the way down to my fingertips.

I bend one of my knees until my foot is planted flat against the ground, with the full intention of using the leverage, along with the wall at my back to push myself onto my feet, but I make the mistake of pressing the side of my face to the cool stone and the relief I feel stomps down on that concept; too weary to even contemplate standing, just trying to cool that side of my face against the ageing rock. That's when I promise myself it'll only be for a moment, just a few seconds no more than that. Let my body rest for a full minuet.

Eyelids as heavy as lead close over my pupils, I'm certain I've only blinked. Just lose my vision for a fraction of a second but when they are once more able to drag themselves open, cracking the seal of dried blood and sweat, the walls has heated to the same temperature as my skin and there are footsteps so close that it is impossible that I wouldn't have been able to hear them until now.

Another drop of my heavy eyelids and I am almost certain I had lost consciousness if only for a moment because the echoed footfalls triple in volume and speed, seconds before I feel warm fingers touching my cheek. The gentle whisper of "Good God" breathed so close to my skin I can feel the air pass across my face, but the words themselves so distant and surrounded by fog they might well have been swallowed up by the wind. "Sweetheart look at me." Fingers grace the underside of my chin and even if I had the strength to fight there isn't any way I could have struggled against Hermione's gentle command. I watch as she bites on her lips suppressing a reaction.

"Hermione?" To my ears that single word sounds like a question, feeling like my tongue isn't entirely sure what my eyes are persevering.

"Yes, it's me." Her gaze is trying to probe so deeply into me, looking through the windows into my very soul but I find myself utterly unable to focus on her, trying to look right through her with no idea what it is I'm looking for. "Look at me." She says again snapping my gaze back into focus. She then shuffles down into her knees, resting down on her hunches, close to my extended leg. Reaching over with both hands in order to hold my head on either side; running her touch first over my crown then gently over my ears. "Can you tell me what day it is?" Her hands leave my skin and I see her sights set on her fingers for a moment before they began to run down the column of my neck.

"Urm." My eyelids close and I find myself having to blink, my left eye squinting more than my right. Opening my mouth to answer what must be a very simple question but I don't have an answer for her. "It's err… it's Friday." I don't know how but my tongue knew my answer long before my brain had been able to catch up with it and even though it should be easy I still find my questioning gaze on her, seeking validation.

She manages a tight-lipped smile, not looking at all happy but still wishing to show me that she is. "Very good." She comments, her fingers now resting along my shoulder and she can't suppress a frown; her gaze running along my immobile arm, inactive across my lap. "Can you make a fist for me?" is her next request.

Slowly I shake my head, then immediately wish that I hadn't, having to close my eyes and bite my lip against the all-consuming feeling of nausea deep in the pit of my belly. "I can't move it." I admit while feeling my stomach muscles clench.

Now her palm closes over the joint at the top of the offending limb and I press my eyes tightly closed to keep myself from crying out at the burning pain that settles over it, a whimper tumbling up from my chest catches in the back of my throat, still audible but I don't care. She can see my pain but what of it, why is it so important to conceal it?

All at once something occurs to me, something so blindingly obvious that it is inconceivable that I had managed to miss it to begin with. "What time is it?" Surly she should still be out in the grounds, or even at the fringes of the forbidden forest taking her tuition in magical creatures.

I feel her hand twist against me but never leave my skin. "Quarter past five."

"That doesn't make any sense." I say having to swallow down bile while asking myself if that slur in my voice is really there or just a product of my currently fogged senses. I hardly notice as she takes my useless arm in her grasp and gently lifts it, placing the palm of my hand against her shoulder, holding it there at my wrist. "How can it be after five?"

"I know." She says, appearing not to take any notice what it is I am saying but still keeping her voice calm and trying to assure me with every syllable. However what it is exactly she is trying to assure me of is a complete mystery to me. "Jamie." She calls, touching her palm once more to my cheek to direct my eyes to lock with hers. "I am going to do something and it is going to hurt."

"I already hurt." I hear myself complain, taking on the verbal skills of a child half my age.

"I know." The stroking of her thumb under my eye is added to the pleasant sensation of her touch and she bites hard onto her lips, drawing them into a thin line. "I know, but I have to." She closes her hand into a very lose fist, running the backs of her knuckles against my cheekbone, still having to maintain the contact to be able to grasp my wavering attention. "Do you trust me?"

For the first time in what feels like years she asks a question that I do not have to sort thought all of my jumbled thoughts in which to answer. "With my life." However the words that I use aren't something that I would have normally chosen.

"It has to be more than that." She replies. "Trust that I'll keep you safe, that I'll get you through this. Okay?"

Remembering my churning stomach I nod slowly. "Okay."

"Good. Now remember, this is going to hurt." For a moment I wonder why she is repeating herself, then I realise that I had failed to remember that piece of information before she had so kindly reminded me. "Are you ready?"

No, I'm not ready to feel any more pain. With my mind a disorderly mess and my body shaking from head to toe for some unknown reason, I am not in any sense of the word prepared to endure anything further. Without my consent my head nods to the affirmative and with a single jolted movement she moves her upper body towards me, pushing sharply on the hand that rests on her collarbone. A sickening pop echoes in my ear less than a heartbeat before I feel the pain radiate from my shoulder, my head tilts back, my jaw dropping open and I scream.

Without thought or care of my fragile body I flinch, pressing deeper into a wall at my back and curling both arms over my head. Within a moment she is pulling at the limbs, tugging them away and wrapping her arms around my crown to tuck my head under her chin, as she gently runs her fingers in a soothing motion through my hair. Whispering over and over again that it's okay, that it's over now but that doesn't stop the burning all along my arm that is provoking pitiful whimpers with every exhale.

Her hands close over my ears after many moments, her thumbs reaching out to brush away tears that I hadn't even been aware of and slowly she smiles. The look in her eyes a direct contrast to the expression on her face. It's only when I reach out to run my fingers over those lips that are silently lying to me that I realise I have use of my left hand again and quickly I am distracted by it. Opening and closeting my fist, like it's the most fascinating thing in the world, I must clench the muscles and release them a full three times before I comprehend exactly what I'm doing. Pressing the heel of my hand deep into the bridge of my nose to try to chase away the fog and the confusion that I can feel working its way between my ears, "What's the matter with me?"

Just as I am about to push the nails of that hand deep into my skin she is pulling it away before it can do any further damage. "It's nothing to worry about. I'll look after you."

"I know." I'm not even thinking about my words, my thoughts scattered about to such a degree that I can't think, can't concentrate on one single emotion or deliberation. My fingers now rest on her cheek lightly dragging at the skin and marvelling at her warmth. "Hermione."

"Yes?" She says, slowly still trying to keep the focus of my gaze when it is so intent to stare at the upward curve of her lips that I know to be a direct contrast to her thoughts.

"I love you." I don't know why I say that, my whole face creasing into deep confusion. I don't think I've ever said those words to her. Not since I first admitted my deep-seated feelings all those months ago and even then I most defiantly didn't say it in those words, I talked myself in circles until she understood exactly what it was I was trying to convey. However right in this moment it was the most important thing I could have said, I needed her to know even though I have already told her, she already knows. So why in the name of all the gods is it so important?

She doesn't comment, letting a snort of laughter pass between her nostrils that could almost be seen as genuine, then leans forwards to press her lips against my temple. Resting her cheek against my skin and returns the sentiment. "I love you too." For several moments she lets me just soak in the comfort she can give me, lets me cling to her woollen jumper and try to bleed some warmth into my shivering muscles. This is something that she notices and slowly lets her hands rub against my upper arms, trying to generate friction without aggravating my injuries. "Do you think you can stand?" She asks quietly still close to my ear.

I don't want to, now with my head spinning and my stomach churning in the way it is, but the floor is hard against my rump; the thought of a warm bed the biggest motivator in my answer. "Maybe."

"There's no maybe about it." With far more speed than I appreciate she has pulled her warm embrace away from my body and straightened to her full height, brushing off the dust that has clung to the knees of her jeans before reaching down to help me to my feet. "Come on."

Her fingers close in a tight grip around my forearm, the same cannot be said for my own grasp of her arm but with her aid and my other arm pushed out at an awkward position against the wall slowly I am able to stand. Having to close my eyes the very moment my knees straighten and lean back against the supporting stone as a wave of dizziness thunders through my head.

Within a second she is able to support me, with a gentle hand against my injured shoulder and a tight grip of my school shirt under my other arm; patently waiting for me to be in a fit state to begin any sort of movement. When I finally am able to take a big enough breath and swallow down my evening meal enough to open my eyes I can still see the fog at the very edges of my vision but at the very least it does not twist and turn as I had anticipated.

Her concerned eyes only meet mine for a second before she is pulling my right arm across her shoulders, trying to make it appear as if we are merely sharing a casual embrace, not that she is somehow managing to bear most of my superior weight as she leads me down the corridor. The blood that I can feel dried and caked to the side of my face not doing anything to aid the illusion but I am almost certain that it is for my benefit. "Shouldn't you be in lesson?" I find myself suddenly asking, only vaguely noticing that we are travelling in the opposite direction to my chamber. "What time is it?"

"A little after five." She answers in a strained voice after a short pause.

"I already knew that." I say, having to grunt against a particularly painful twitch in my thigh. "Didn't I?"

She chooses not to speak but the heavy silence says more than any words she could have uttered. Something is most defiantly wrong with me and not just my most basic functions, hindered by injury but something on a higher level. The cloudy vale over my eyes and the mist invading my ears enough for me to figure out that much, whatever it is Hermione appears to understand. Along with everything else my body seems to be going through. "Where are we going?"

"We're going to clean you up, then put you to bed." She answers slowly, tightening her grip around my waist as I misjudge a crack in the stone flooring and very nearly drive headfirst back into the rock.

After a few stumbling paces we turn a corner and I instantly realise why we had been heading in this direction. The windows along this passage face due west and the bright afternoon sun can be seen spilling through the high panes of glass. I can barely wait to be bathed in that wondrous, warm light and even though I know I am by no means coordinated enough to quicken my stride I have enough weight pressed down against my ankles to do just that but the whispered curse of "bugger," at my side halts the action.

"Well, looks like you're still standing." Nancy says, pulling her lower lip between her teeth and I'm not certain if she is disappointed or relived by that fact. "That's something I suppose." She then turns her head and pulls her eyes downwards towards Hermione, a frown gracing her features. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean what am I doing here?" I can feel her shaking but I can't tell if the vibration emits from her, or me as even after such a short arduous exertion I still feel a chill setting deep into my bones. "Where exactly were you?"

"Hey," She holds her hand out in a pacifying gesture, even going as far as to take a step back. "I'm her keeper, not her bodyguard and to be quite frank, I shouldn't have to deal with this crap." She stands at the very point where the blinding light meets the shadows, having to squint a single eye against the brightness, where all I am able to do is feel the reflected warmth from the stone. Comforting yes but does not afford me the healing capabilities that we had been aiming for.

What's more I cannot step into that light, not now. I know it has taken a few moments for my mind to catch up but now I realise that if Nancy sees what I am capable of, what Ammy has been able to instil in me that will give her knowledge that will in no way be to my advantage.

Nancy haves an irritated sigh, her eyes running over me in a deeply apprising way and to the hold I have against Hermione and throws me an exasperated look before fixing her eyes to my partner. "So, hospital wing?"

"No." I feel my mouth open without my consent and answer far too quickly, which earns me a questioning look from the Slytherin girl. "I mean…" Just like that my mind goes completely blank, a lifetime habit of having a dozen mistruths ready and waiting to be chosen at the tip of my tongue all but deserting me in the blink of an eye, leaving me with nothing.

"Yes, she's being quite stubborn about that." Hermione jumps to my rescue, acting just as annoyed with my decision to stay away from the resident mediwitch.

"Yeah well," Nancy says, stepping out of that giving sunlight and coming to stand at my side. "She was always a pig headed, idiot." When I try to pull my face into a show of exasperation I can feel the swelling beginning to form around my left eye, which I am sure spoils the effect of the whole thing. All I get in return is a highly raise eyebrows and another sigh of contempt. "It's not as if I'm wrong." She says with a gesture over her shoulder and takes the lead back along the pathway. "You've already walked past the bathroom."

She doesn't offer her aid to Hermione, I'm not certain if that is because of her trying to show that we mealy walk together casually holding each other looks genuine enough for her to needn't bother or is she is truly terrified of the disease that she believes resides in my blood. Much of which is caked to the side of my face but I'm still grateful for it because Hermione might just accept the help from her, if it had been offered and I really don't think that I would be able to allow that. Even in this fuzzy frame of mind. Nancy is however kind enough to hold open the bathroom door to allow us entrance and makes no move to remove Hermione's presence. While at the same time Hermione tries to all but ignore Nancy in her entity.

Slowly she leads me over to a basin and encourages me to lean heavily against it, reaching skywards towards my temple, which so far has been her most focused area of concern. "You've banged your head up pretty bad." She comments, trying and failing to keep the concern from both her voice and her eyes.

"Yeah," I concede, closing my eyes tight and reaching up to attempt to rub away the resounding ache between my ears. "Feels like it might explode."

Before I can reach for my skin her fingers close around mine and draw them further into the torch light for a closer examination. My fingers do appear to be in the correct order and place but I've broken the skin enough to coat them in my own blood. "What happened there?" She asks, reaching over with one hand and running the towel under the warm tap, taking a moment to push the plug deep into the drain.

"Goyle's jaw is solid as a rock." I hear Nancy snorting at my comment somewhere at the other side of the room but pay her as little attention I am able.

Hermione places my fingers around the edge of the sink and squeezes out the excess water from her sodden towel. "There's your first mistake." She says with a slight laugh playing at the edges of her tone. She reaches up and gently begins to wipe across my skin, clearing it of the dried blood and very soon the crisp white towel begins to turn pink. "There are too many bones in the face, solar plexus are much softer." She stops in cleaning the scarlet from my cheek enough to disappear in her own thoughts for a moment. "Or the groin. Much more effective as well."

Nancy, with her arms folded across her chest begins to gradually pace the length of the tiled room, her head bowed and her sights firmly on the floor. "You sound like the voice of experience, Granger."

"Well I wasn't always a goody two shoes." She comments, distracted in her task.

"I find that hard to believe." I say, wincing as she presses the wet cotton to the gash on my temple. "Ow."

"Why? Because I'm clever?" Hermione completely ignores my painful outcry and even with one side of my face covered by the fluffy marital I manage to throw a questioning look in her direction. She pulls it away and while reaching up to examine the lactation, still continues to speak. "I've always been clever. Just picked up on things quicker than everyone else and I've always been kind of a bookworm, so by the time I hit year three I was just bored."

With a few final swipes across my cheek she looks happy that she has cleared the majority of the gore from it and drops the towel back into the warm water to wash as much of it away as she can. "Bored of learning? Not you Hermione."

"I wasn't learning, that was the problem." She takes my hand and rests it over her palm, slowly lowering the cloth to my skin dabbing at it gently before removing it completely to be able to see exactly what damage I have done, only showing me the top of her head as she almost nonchalantly reveals this part of her life that I have never been privy to before. "I already knew everything, which I know makes me sound big headed but I did. So I ended up in trouble most of the time." When she is happy with her assessment of one set of fingers she reaches for the other, showing it the same care and attention she had the first.

Something about her story doesn't sit right with me; it doesn't fit the perfect little box that I've put her in. My sweet, caring Hermione involved in any sort of mindless violence, not only that but practically by choice. It's so outlandish that I can barely picture it. "So you ended up fighting?" More out of habit than anything else my eyebrow rises slightly, until the stinging wound reminds me that it is still there and I am forced to tightly close my eye.

Only showing me the top of her head as her gaze is firmly placed on the back of my hand I can't see the look in her eye but I can see her nod. "Among other things."

Nancy, who presumably has seen that much of the blood has been washed away, deems it safe to come a little closer, leaning back against the furthest sink. "Hermione 'know it all' Granger was a scrapper." She says around a snigger but not in any deprecating way. The look in her eyes is different to that, something close to respect but not quite that strong. "Well that's a turn up for the books." She then raises her chin in obvious question, as committed to the answers as I appear to be. "So, come on. Put us out of our misery. What changed?"

Resting her hand on my hip she leans around me to pull the plug on the sink, turning on one of the taps to wash away the last remains of gore from the porcelain. "I got my letter to Hogwarts. Suddenly there was the whole world that could never have existed before; fountains of knowledge that before were just fiction and I just want to learn every single thing."

"That's surprising." Nancy says, catching my eye for a second in wonder at my silence. In truth she is asking all the questions that I had been thinking of and at the moment my thoughts are far to muddled to be able to put it into any coherent order so it's much safer if she takes the lead. "All these years, I thought you just had something to prove. You know being a…" I can hear her teeth snap together even from this distance. Stopping her line of thought as she realises exactly where she is, whom she's with and the fact that she is outnumbered. "A urm…" She pauses and clears her throat clearly unable to come up with any word that might appease us both.

"I think the term you're looking for is Muggleborn." I supply, while attentively touching my fingertips to my temple. Only to harshly jerk them away, the tenderness indicating how much it is beginning to swell.

Using her hand to indicate she would like to drive the conversation onwards she begins to lose her nerve. "Yeah, that."

Hermione takes a step back, her eyes losing focus at some point high above her shoulder, lost in her own memories. "My blood status didn't really become an issue until second year, back then I think I just wanted to learn."

"So you have something to prove now?" There is a question laced through Nancy's voice. In fact there are several, mostly centred over who she wants to impress and why.

Hermione doesn't disappoint me. Whether she heard the questions as I did matters very little because she still gives a vague reply of, "Don't we all?" before settling every ounce of her attention back to me, her eyes momentarily flicking to the wound on my head which has thankfully stopped bleeding. "You should probably go to bed."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea." I concede in a second, lightened by the notion that I might not need to support my own weight for much longer. So bone weary that feel I could happily sleep for a week, should the sun choose to remain behind the horizon for that long.

The gentle smile that plays on her lips is in direct contest to the hard stone in her deep eyes but somehow she still manages to keep her tone light. "Do you want some company?"

The grumble that Nancy emits borders on concealed laughter. "Oh, I can't allow that."

Hermione stares into me, like she knows that I have ways and means of changing her mind. Challenging her in ways that Hermione would never think of, which normally might be true but at the moment I am having difficulty keeping myself upright and focusing on the conversation at the same time.

Another matter that I must contend with is that on this issue I agree with Nancy, probably not for the same reasons. Nancy can't allow it because if Umbridge ever found out that her attempts to segregate me had failed I don't even want to imagine the consequences. My reasons are much more simple. There isn't enough space for us both to occupy for any great length of time and I don't want to subject Hermione to what should be my incarceration.

It's the way she's looking at me that makes me stop from arguing with her. She has a thousand reasons to remain with me throughout the night. I can see them dancing around behind her hard eyes but she cannot put voice to them. Not with a witness so close when she has been trying so hard to conceal the extent of my injuries; which can't have been easy with my currently short attention span and the shear amount of blood that coated my skin until recently.

Tightly closing in my eyes until I can hear the thunder behind them, I try to clear my mind of the fog and mist that has settled there. There has to be something, after a whole day there has to be one thing Nancy has let slip that I can use. That I can call upon. I know there are several of them that I took special note of but can't for the life of me recall anything of consequence.

It takes far longer than I would have liked and my plan of attack is flimsy at best. "Odd, that you would try to uphold Umbridge's rules when just this morning you expressed distaste at being in her personal army."

The pitch of Nancy's voice drops significantly. Gone is the mirth and the mild admiration she held when discussion Hermione life before Hogwarts. Now I am faced with annoyance and disbelief. "What?"

"Actually, I'm certain you said 'personal bloody army'." I catch Hermione's gaze that she has kept on me, until now. Imploring with her to take this as far as she can because having to think like this is beginning to make my head pound to such an extent that I the edges of my vision are starting to turn black.

I'm just lucky that I fell for someone who took enough notice of my facial cues to be able to pick up where I leave off. "Yeah, I think I heard that."

"Yeah, so? It's not like she's ever believe either of you." Nancy is irritated I can hear it. A stray comment made in passing coming back around to bite her but she should have known better, known I would have used it when it was necessary.

"True." Hermione admits slowly. "But how many people were at that table, or the one behind us? It shouldn't be difficult, putting some doubt on your loyalties. She's almost as paranoid of Mad Eye lately."

Nancy's anger overtakes her for just a moment, stepping forward with an accusing finger outstretched in Hermione's direction. "Why you little…" She never finishes that though. Possibly because she recollects that this woman standing firmly in front of her has just admitted to being in a number of physical fights in her preteens and that Nancy has neglected to draw her wand. The notion both angers and pacifies her in equal measure and she draws her outstretched hand into a fist while biting down harshly on her lower lip. Her gaze snaps in my direction and her jaw tightens with annoyance. "Now I understand why you like her." She doesn't comment any further just takes a look up and down the Gryffindor prefect before relenting, stepping around her to pull open the door. "Well come on then, let's get this bloody over with."


	45. Chapter 45: Sunbeams

Chapter 45

When I wake the next morning it's not with the abrupt alertness I am accustomed to, the moment the suns ray touch the horizon. It's more like a need to climb, a need to grip the slick mud walls of my subconscious until the tips of my fingers bleed with the exertion.

It's probably why the aching all along the backs of my knuckles, is the first thing I take note of. My hands had been clenched into tight balls around some indefinable scrap of material and when I manage to coax them into something resembling relaxation, every bone and joint grinds against itself, provoking a groan to show my mounting discomfort.

The pounding behind my eyes is the next part of my body to make itself known. Every droplet of water flowing along the piping system, every scratching scurry along the stone floor made by some rodent, somewhere within in castle, every noise punctures my eardrums, stabbing into my brain right between my eyes. When I lift my arm from the bed of protruding springs, my movement is slow and lethargic. Almost feeling as if I have taken on Atlas' load and the weight of the world has already crushed me from the shoulders down.

Losing the fight against gravity my hand drops down, far less gently than I would have liked, over the side of my face and my fingers curl around my temple. My whole chest tightening into a pitiful whimper that might just have been a screech of agony had I the energy to voice it.

Only when warm flesh closes over my freezing fingers do I notice the rest of my body shivering. Those grasping hands pull mine away from my face where it is painfully pushing my skull deeper into the thin pillow. "Careful." Is the softly spoken word I am greeted with.

It takes me a moment and a deep lung full of air to place the voice. The sound and tone so familiar but I am completely unable to put a face to it, forced to open a single heavy eyelid with such agonising slowness that her name is close to the edge of my consciousness when my eyes confirm my suspicions. "Hermione?" I know I had spoken, I felt my jaw aching as it moved but the voice that hit's my ears croaks to such an extent that I am unable to recognise it.

I watch her close the book that had been laid open across her legs, crossed at the knee before closing my eye against the bright light cast by the single candle across the room. "How do you feel?" Is her first enquiry.

I feel my forehead crease, partially against the pain settling over every inch of skin and also because I find myself having to think how I can answer her. I understand the question and I know that I am far from well but having to put the words into any sort of coherent sentence is proving difficult. "Like I've been charged by a Minotaur." My upper lip feels round and full, much too big to merely cover my teeth, and making me slur with the effort to speak around it.

She sniggers slightly at this. "I suppose Crabbe and Goyle do come close." She releases my hand only to put her thick book on the rackety desk and perch on the edge of the bed. "Do you still feel dizzy?"

I can't control the coughing; it thunders through my chest like a raging storm and leaves me moaning against throbbing ribs. "I don't think so." I manage to wheeze out between laboured breaths. "How did I get into bed?" I enquire, dragging an eyelid skyward once more, fighting against the swelling over my left eye and losing the battle.

"You don't remember?" She asks in a low, concerned tone then watches as I slowly shake my head. "I practically had to drag you; you're heavy by the way. No more doughnuts for you."

There is a teasing note to her voice and I feel certain that I have once more completely missed her attempt at humour. "What's a doughnut?" I find myself asking.

Her hand leaves mine to run through the hair at my temple, the soothing caress making my eye feel heavy with fatigue and I don't fight it as it slides closed. "One day I'll make you try one, for now try not to think too much."

"But there is so much to think about." I reply, pushing the heel of my hand against a coil of spring to lower myself onto my back, some note of discomfort catching in the back of my throat.

"Like what?" She asks, her hand sliding off my face with my shift in position and she let's it travel down to my stomach, offering me soothing circles with her thumb.

"Like..." I croak, pausing to clear my throat enough to be comfortable speaking. "Like how I'm going to get into the sunlight without Nancy seeing me. Then convince her that I went to the hospital wing."

"At least you're feeling better." She comments in a way that is more to herself than intended for me.

Even if her comment was just something she threw to the wind, she isn't wrong. Where from what little I remember of late yesterday afternoon, just listing what my current problems were, would have had the edges of my vision blurring into black and teetering on the very edge of consciousness. I may not as of yet be in any frame of mind to be able to puzzle out my problems to any feasible conclusion but I can at least list them. "I have absolutely no idea how I'm going to be able to do that." I say, bringing my mind back to the matter at hand.

Slowly I drag my eye open, only to see a look a deep thoughtfulness clouding Hermione's features. "I could distract her somehow?" She finally says.

Pulling my cheek between my teeth in thought, then raise my chin slightly. "How?"

Her eyebrows hunch over her eyes and after a few long moments of silence between the two of us she shrugs. "Does it matter?"

The patterns her thumb is making across my stomach, while still comforting is beginning to tickle and I am doubtful that my ribs will be able to withstand any more pressure. So before it can draw laughter out of me I thread my fingers through hers. Resting our hands across my body so I can just hold onto her, giving myself some physical contact so I know I am truly awake. "Yes." I answer simply and by the look on her face I see that I must expand on that. "Nancy is..." I find myself pausing because to call her clever would be an understatement and I don't quite know if Hermione will be able to draw an inference from that simple word. "Well she's a lot like me. We understand each other, even if we want to rip each other to pieces most of the time. If you were injured or upset or even angry, her eyes would be on me."

That confuses her, to such an extent that it strikes her almost dumb with only one word in her vast vocabulary to draw on. "Why?"

"Because she knows I'd never leave you like that." Privately I curse my lose tongue yesterday morning. At the time I just wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her until she understood what had changed, why I changed because if I could go back in time, just two years and see myself. It's exactly what I would do to that Jamelia Desay, that person though no longer exists. Nancy reminds me so much of that time in my life that I almost feel like I am guiding myself in the right direction, not her. That small misstep is now proving to be a hurdle I had not foreseen. Passion winning out over reason and reminding me, why I had not allowed that to happen for so many years.

"That does pose a problem." She says with a huff. "Can't you threaten her again?" It's not necessary what she says that has me sending a disbelieving look in her direction; even though the very notion of her condoning this form of conduct is baffling at best. It's the way she said it. Like she knows I can and doesn't mind that fact, that she accepts this part of me no matter how distasteful it can be. For a few long moments I just watch her, listening to her heart rate speed up until the moment she utters a very self-conscious: "What?"

"Nothing." I answer almost immediately, not wanting to draw attention to this observation. It's strange to think that I had almost felt cut off from a part of myself, not quite whole when I had not permitted myself to flex these particular muscles. When I thought it would disgust her, cause her to reject me and yet here she is, pushing me into a frame of mind I had been avoiding for months. "I don't really have enough information to threaten her. All I really have is lies and half-truths; it wouldn't be enough for her to look away this time." Slowly and attentively I bring my fingers to my swollen eye. My digits feeling cold against the stretched skin and brings me some small sense of relief from the incessant burning it has provoked. "I suppose I could bribe her, if I had something she wanted."

Having to use much more effort that I would be comfortable to admit, I manage to gather my forearms up beneath me, pushing against the thin mattress to lift my torso with the full intention of sitting up in the bed. As it stands I only have enough time to see Hermione shoot me a scornful look, before my left shoulder burns with resentment over the movement and the pressure I have put into it. With a cry into the tiny room my left arm gives out from under me, my right almost instantly abandoned everything I had been trying to achieve with it and shoots across my body. My hand closing tightly over the joint and if I am honest it doesn't feel altogether stable in its socket and I have no wish to relive the disconcerting sounds or the feeling of it sliding back into place.

"I did say to be careful." Hermione says, purposely catching my eye and raising both eyebrows in challenge. When I don't take the bait she has laid she runs her hand over her chin in thought. "Maybe we are looking at this from the wrong angle." She says, once more for her own benefit. Quicker than I thought she had been able to move she is on her feet, pushing the wooden chair back under my desk and giving the lock that has recently been added to my door a thorough inspection.

She takes to her knees, running the tips of her fingers around the keyhole and even reaching up to take hold of the candle so she may view it in a different light.

Having not learned from my previous failed attempt I shift until my legs fall over the side of the bed, unable to suppress the strangled groan as my feet hit the floor and I manage to pull myself into a sitting position. I pull my injured arm across my lap and fold my other hand over the back of my head, trying to convince myself that I do not need to launch into a coughing fit in order to breathe.

After an indefinable number of steadying breaths I run my fingers through my hair and turn to face Hermione, whom by this time has the tip of her wand pressed tightly into the keyhole. "Are you okay?" She asks in a distracted fashion and I am grateful that she had left me to overcome the feeling in my chest without intervention.

"I'll live." I comment, breathless and wiping away the tears that have gathered in the corners of my eyes. "Do you think you can unlock it?"

I can hear the frustration trying to exit her body in the form of a sigh. "No." She answers in a clipped tone, running her eyes over the doorframe and leaning back on her hunches. "But, I might have an idea."

"Oh?" I say, only half listening. I find it doubtful that she will be able to open the door but I know that there is no way I can talk her out of trying.

So I do my best to ignore her infuriatingly futile attempts and after hooking my hand under my elbow to keep my painful shoulder as still as possible I push myself onto my feet. Only releasing when I bear my weight down over my right hip exactly how bruised that part of my body is. Gritting my teeth and turning within the small space then leaning back onto my desk, trying not to think about how much of my weight it can actually take before collapsing beneath me.

"Jamie?" Hermione says with a disapproving note to her voice, only continuing when she hears me groan in response, just enough for her to know I am listening. "What are you doing?"

"I hurt, Hermione." Is all the response I give her. Reaching down to pull open my trunk and placing my hand on the cool flagon filled to the brim with my pain potion within seconds.

"You could have just asked." She admonishes, standing from her task to rest her hands over my hips to steady my stance. In honestly I hadn't even noticed that I have been wavering on my perch, until she came across to secure me. She leans far over as I push my thumb against the seal on my flagon, upending it almost immediately. "Wow. That's..." she pauses and I hear her swallow and feel her shift her stance. "That's bigger on the inside." From what I can tell by her positioning and the awe stricken words she had used, I can only assume that she had been staring into the dark, bottomless recesses of my trunk.

I drain every drop of potion, not thinking exactly how I'm going to be able to make any more without access to my wand, just glad that right here, right now all that pain has been pushed to the very back of my mind. "Undetectable extending charm." I explain easily, around a sigh of relief. "It's very useful."

"I've actually never heard of that." Her eyes meet mine for a moment, I can see the request for me to teach her this newfound trick but she bites her tongue and resists. Weaving spells at this very moment I would compare in difficulty to scaling Mount Olympus. She must realise this and the grip she has around my hips tightens slightly so she can grasp my undivided attention. "Will you at least sit back down?"

Closing my one good I eye, I nod towards her. Now that I have taken the edge off my full body ache I'm more than happy to remain docile and compliant. Keeping one hand against me to steady my stance she reaches across to pull out the chair she had so recently vacated, coaxing me to take a seat, which I do without complaint and lean back heavily as soon as the weight drops from my knees.

Her fingers find my hair to push the wayward stands out of my face and she uses the gentle hold to tip my face upwards. "Can I trust you to keep still for just a few minutes?" She says with a small amount of humour in her voice.

"Yeah." I say lethargically, all of my energy having been washed away along with the pain.

"Okay." She says along with a small chuckle, running her hand softly through my hair and then leaving me to my stupor. For what could be anything between a few seconds and hours up on end, I listen to Hermione's vague rustling and scraping against her current assignment, tapering somewhere between alertness and a deep sleep but never actually able to be completely submerged in either state.

A particularly loud and lengthy scrape has me taking a sharp breath, seated bolt upright to be able to investigate. What I find when I open my one good eye has me seriously considering pinching my own skin, just to be certain that I have not slid headlong into the realms of Morpheus without noticing. "How on earth..." I cut myself off from asking such a stunned question, when a triumphant smile slides across her face.

"No one ever thinks about the hinges." She says simply, lifting the door and swinging it inwards, still held to the wall by the sturdy lock, still glistening with magical reinforcement, still held steadfastly to the doorframe and acting as a joint for the withered wood to swing from. "Come on." She commands gently, holding her hand out for me to take.

This must surely be how many muggles view us, a sense of equally deep fascination and apprehension. Marvelling over the magic we can weave with a wand, so much so that books are written and mistrals will sing but still with that resounding fear of the unknown. That is how I look on her now, as I slowly slide my hand into hers so she can pull me from my seat.

The pivot point created by the lock, held fast into the doorframe but does not provide the same level of swing as the hinges do. So as a consequence I am forced to pass beneath the threshold under my own steam, slowly and cautiously side stepping, quite literally toppling onto Hermione when one of my feet clumsily become tangled in the other. My motor functions having not yet fully returned to me even if the maddening pain has been reduced to a dull throb across my body.

There is a terrifying moment where she rocks back onto her heels and I honestly do not believe that Hermione will be able to support both of our combined weight but as I am learning is most often the case; the shorter woman surprises me. Flashing me a triumphant show of teeth when she has us both stable and still standing, revealing that she had not exactly been optimistic of that outcome herself.

She refuses to allow me to even entertain the notion of taking a single step without her assistant, pushing her shoulder deeply under my armpit and weaving her arm around my waist. I am loath to admit it but after two shaky paces across the uneven floor I confess, albeit privately, that she had been right and it is unlikely that I could have made it outdoors by myself.

After many close calls that would have brought both of us to the floor and more painful groaning from me than I am willing to acknowledge, she reaches out to swing the outer door open. My knees very nearly giving way entirely as the scent of fresh air hits my nostrils. Frustratingly she has to half drag me around the side of the building, out of the shadow of the castle due to our point of exit but when she does. When she is finally able to pull my battered and broken body out into the glorious rays of direct sunlight the effect is instantaneous.

I can breathe again. That was my first coherent thought of the day. No longer do I have to subconsciously check my breathing pattern, making sure that I wasn't breathing too deeply and over taxing my lungs. They had already reminded me in a non-to subtle fashion that if I were to do so I would end up choking one of them up through my windpipe and then my ribs would take the opportunity to remind me that they had also taken a beating.

Then I straighten up to my full height, only briefly taking notice of my hip that can now easily bear my weight, instead focusing on what is quite possibly the most important part of my anatomy. My fingers thread through my tangled hair and I close my eyes in alleviation. I can think again, without that maddening fog that pointedly refused to leave my thoughts, without feeling as though my stomach were going to drop right out of me. I laugh out loud at the strange wonderful feeling of having my thoughts back where they belong, not dancing just out of reach, relieved tears stinging at the corners of my eyes, both of which I am now able to open without a battle.

Hermione slides away from my side and just as quickly my eyes follow her, with some almost palpable craving for her right on the edges of my tongue. I can feel it gather in my irises as I look over her, the election and the ecstasy of the past couple of seconds collating inside me, pressing against my chest and howling for release.

Several things pass through my mind that could cause this reaction: the adrenalin of so many aliments healing all at once, the deep primal part of my being that I am gradually beginning to accept making itself known, or even the simplicity of being in her presence. Unsupervised for such a stretch of time and not having the coordination or the energy to illiterate to her exactly how much I crave her. I can't settle on any of these answers and to be honest I don't care. All I know, without a shadow of doubt is that I want her and even if I had the power to resist it I don't see the reason to. Not with her eyes glistening at me in the early morning light, that smile touching her lips looking more genuine that I have seen in days.

It's not often that I incite physically contact between the two of us without rhyme or reason. Without some sordid ulterior motive, today is no exception. She must be able to see it in the hungry look I can feel pulled across my face because she takes a half step back, letting me press into the curve of her back with the palms of my hands and even lifting her face skywards as my lips descend onto hers.

She is quick to thread her fingers into my robes, which I am only just observing that I had failed to change out of last night. My fingers find her hair as I straighten significantly, pushing against her wild mane in a futile attempt to tame it before I pull those sparkling soulful pools of brown from my gaze. The tip of my forehead touches hers, totally at the mercy of the smile spread so wide across my face that my cheeks are beginning to ache. "You didn't undress me." I say slowly, hoping the provocative tone I had managed to push into my voice reaches my eyes to the same extent that it is singing in my chest.

"I didn't think it would be proper to take advantage of you in your weakened state." She says in jest; her hands sliding further up my torso and hooking lightly over my shoulders before her mood turns just a fraction more serious. "I take it you're feeling better."

"Oh, Hermione," I begin, thinking that her observation must be some sort of record when it comes to understatement. "I've never felt like this before."

The passion ebbs from us both as I look deep inside myself to pinpoint exactly what reactions my mind and body is experiencing, while Hermione lets curiosity take over much of her features. "How do you feel?" She finally asks, some edge of wonderment in her voice.

For a long moment my eyes lose focus, hunting for some word or phrase that can possibly describe it. In the end, even with my modest vocabulary the simplest of words seems to fit almost perfectly. "Alive." All my life I had been under the misconception that just because my heart was still beating that must mean I am alive. I had no idea how wrong I could be.

I wouldn't categorise any of my injures to be life threatening in any way but to go from that level of uncoordinated movement and pain to this, it's such a vast leap that you can't help but take notice of it. Show gratitude just for being healthy. Magic, I'll grant you, can fix most aliments relatively quickly, for most at least but not to the same extent and with such swiftness. A general build, an easy transition between one state to another.

Nothing like what I am currently experiencing, with the sudden burst of energy and vitality that makes me feel: "Like I could do anything." I've never spoken a truer word. Ideas running through my head at such speed running into and over each other, melding together; things have never been so clear, so incredibly easy. With crystal clarity I know exactly what I need to do, without even really needing to think about it. Scraps of information effortlessly fit together like the workings of an intricate puzzle. My father would never see it coming; it's different and invisible. Taking time and patience but I have ample amounts of both.

Warm digits against my cheek bring me back to the present, and my eyes lock on those deep pools of brown. I hadn't forgotten she was in my arms, my body still humming to be close to her, closer than we are now with the barriers of cloth separating us. She smiles slowly, seeing my attention shift. "I lost you there for a moment."

"Sorry." I say, my gaze dropping between us as I try to decide exactly how quickly I could have her liberated from that crimson woollen jumper, also pondering if it would be faster and easier if I simply ripped it in two.

"At least you're smiling about it." She says watching my eyes dart back up to her features and the grin that spreads across my face I would personally describe as devilish. "What?" She asks in a very slow voice. I know that is implausible that she would know exactly what I had been thinking but for some reason I take this cautiously asked question as permission to act on my thoughts. My palms slide under both shirt and jumper, in a smooth single motion gathering at the small of her back and pushing it skywards. It doesn't exactly take her long to realise what I had in mind. Her hands closing over my forearms and she pushes all of her body weight down onto the limbs. "What are you doing?"

"I missed you." I all I say, pushing my advances further but I can see that this is making her uncomfortable, so settle for gently running the tips of my fingers along the base of her spine.

"We've been apart a day." She admonishes, still keeping a firm grip on my arms, leaving me under no impression that I should continue, regardless of the current state of my raging hormones. "Not out here, not like this." She says, keeping a constant connection with our eyes.

Somewhere at the back of my mind I realise that this behaviour in our current surroundings is inappropriate. That neither of us should be seen outside of my small damp room but every nerve ending along my body is screaming for her intimate touch, clouding my judgement somewhat and I have to shake my head to clear it. "Alright." I relent but still must keep constant contact with at least a portion of her skin. Pulling my lower lip between my teeth as something resembling fear settles in the pit of my stomach. "But we can?" I ask with a suggestive movement of my head, remaining vague but still intuitively knowing that she will be able to understand the implications and only just noting that her restrictions did not include any sort of time frame.

"What's gotten into you?" She asks, finally releasing my upper limb to run the backs her fingers across my cheekbone. Even this simple movement draws a pitiful whimper from between my lips. Her eyes close at the sound and she permits herself a short breath of laughter. "Something else we're going to have to get used to."

"Probably." I answer around a sigh, already trying to work out the fastest route anywhere that could be classed as private. "Or I could just not get beaten up again."

She nods slowly. "That would probably be preferable." She stops for a moment, her body going still, her eyes darting across mine and she must see something because her next move is to reach behind her. Taking my hand into her own and entwining her fingers, gently commanding me. "Come on."

She takes several steps back towards the tall imposing castle, before I fall into line; having to stomp down the sudden impulse to physically celebrate, as would if I just scored a goal in Quidditch, settling instead for wrapping my arms around her waist and placing a lingering kiss of absolute gratitude against the flesh of her neck. The surprised squeak she emits only adding to my anticipation.


	46. Chapter 46: Restraint

Chapter 46

"Jamie!" Hermione practically squeals less than three steps from my doorway, the tips of my fingers dextrously sliding beneath her knitted jumper to touch the silky skin between navel and hip. Her hands close over my arms that are securely wrapped around her, pulling my chest tighter against her back. The force in which she presses down lifts her up onto her tip toes mid step but to be perfectly honest, all she manages to do is push my wondering hands to much more provocative planes of her body and slide her back against me in such a way that it makes my eyes roll back in their sockets. "Stop that!"

"Why?" I enquire around a chuckle; my nose nestled between her wilds curls so my lips can press tightly against the column of her neck.

Her shoulders twist in a half-hearted effort to pull my tight embrace from around her, causing yet more tantalising brushes against me and I have to use every ounce of my willpower to resist throwing her up against the nearest wall. "Because someone might see us." As she makes this protest, which is becoming much weaker with every step we have taken, her hands flatten against the withered wood at the entrance to my chamber.

"There's nobody here Hermione." I say very seriously. Failing to mention that I needed to force my attention away from her intoxicating scent, which is only getting stronger the more I touch, to be able to run my senses along the corridor.

"How can you possibly know that?" She asks, leaning back to look up and over her shoulder at me. I feel a sarcastic look cross over my face and lift a single finger to tap at the side of my nose. "Oh." She says her face creasing in on itself in understanding. "I'd almost forgotten about that."

I cock my head to the side in question, the word, "Really?" falling from my lips and just for a moment my raging hormones diminish, as I try to figure out if I am pleased with that thought or not.

Her hand against my cheek effectively removes me from my deep contemplation. "Yeah, you're special to me anyway; you don't need amazing senses, or even a goddess living in your head. Just make sure you're still you." She says slowly and I can see her studying my features critically. Only allowing herself to relax when I feel a grin spread across my face. "Now, you have to let go of me Sweetheart."

Instinctively my arms tighten around her, I'm far to close to privacy to give up on the notion of ridding her of all these bothersome clothes now. "Why?" I ask, swallowing back the sudden and disconcerting urge to whimper.

Her fingers are already closing around my hands, gripping around the creases of my palms and fighting against my hold. "Because, the sooner you let go of me the sooner we can get inside." Her voice has a delectable purr to it and I have to shake my head to clear the sudden onslaught of from my libido to be able to interpret her words. "Now, let go." She says softly pressing her lips to my jaw line.

I don't often consider myself to be an idiot, so I am quick to obey the command. I drop my arms down to my sides and wait for her to enter. Only stopping for a moment to send a puzzled look in her direction when she indicates that I should go ahead of her, all she does is lift both eyebrows at me in equal parts challenge and to show her mounting desire that I can already smell coiling in the passageway, so I don't question her verbally.

With much more coordinated steps this time around, I manage to enter the room and clear the doorway relatively quickly to provide her room to enter. Cursing what I perceive to be her agonisingly slow steps right up until the moment she is fully inside the tiny room. Her hands hold out the moment she is steady on her feet, palms wide open and facing me. "Wait." She instructs with a half smile curling one side of her lips. "Just wait till I get the door back on its hinges, okay?"

I can feel my body leaning forward, poised and ready to advance my hands quickly balling into fists of restraint at being forced to wait just a second longer. This must be what makes her giggle in my direction, I don't let her show of humour damage my ego too much as I must admit, looking so ready and eager does probably make me look very amusing. "Hurry up." My strained voice and urgent words do little to drop the entertained look but she does quickly turn her back on me to attend to her task. I step up close to her, keeping my hands firmly at my sides, just like she had requested but I simply must see how she had managed to open the seemingly impenetrable door with what appears to be so little effort.

What I see does leave me somewhat astounded. From somewhere, very possibly having either conjured one or transfigured one, she has been able to acquire a small piece of wood in the shape of a sturdy wedge. With the toe of her shoe she pushes it firmly under the door until it lifts to the correct height to align the two halves of the hinges she has separated. Then quite simply pushes it into place. She drops one, brass pin into all three hinges and she removes the wedge. The door itself looks comply intact and personally I would be hard pressed to see that it had been tampered with. "Are we locked in again?"

"No." She replies, turning to press the wedge of oak into my palm and closes my fingers around it. "I've left the bottom rivets off the hinges. You can come and go as you please but be careful, it won't be easy to close the door behind you and anyone could walk past and see you're not here anymore."

I nod my understanding and move my new possession in my hand so it is suspended between my fingers and thumb. "Who would have thought such an inane looking things would be just as useful as a key."

"That is sort of the point. You shouldn't have to hide it because no one will know what it's for." She says quietly her eyes hunting for some sort of reaction. I'm not entirely certain what she expects to see but her half smile is enough to let me know she had found what she had been looking for.

"Just hope I'm able to use it." Slowly and carefully I put the solid piece of wood down onto my desk. It's such a muggle thing to do, such a non magical solution and we've already established that without my wand I am less than ineffective.

Her warm, welcoming hand touches my cheek drawing my gaze back to become ensnared in hers. "I'm sure you'll get the hang of it." Her other hand lands against my hip and she steps so deeply into my personal space that her pelvis pushes against me, forcing me to take a half step backwards. "Just make sure they're not taking any weight and the pins should slide right out."

Somehow I had been so preoccupied by the intensified smell of this woman in such a tiny enclosed space and the provocative movement of her lips, that I know for a fact that I heard every word she said. However I am completely unable to interpret their actual meaning and must look very simple when I utter a confused, "Pardon?"

The grin that pulls over her face is one of pure hilarity and is accompanied by a small chuckle. "Sit down." Without warning her hand is against my breastplate, pushing in such a demanding way that my knees bend, without any pause for thought and I rest my rump on the bed as instructed. She makes the decent along with me, her thighs parting so her knees push deep into the mattress on either side of my hip, causing the whole piece of furniture to grown under our combined weight. "Do you think this thing will hold us both?" She asks, more as an afterthought raised high on her knees to look over my shoulder.

"Hermione." I say in an almost serious tone, so much so that she leans back on her hunches to look down at me from her high position on my lap. "At this point, I really don't care." My hands touch her denim-covered knees and slide the outer length of her thighs. My torso straightening as hers bends and she allows me to capture her lips in an erotic private dance. Not halting my actions as my fingers graze the waistline of her jeans and skim along the outer edge, only just touching skin.

Her tongue is the first to venture forth, running along my lower lip in a silent bid for entrance. She need not ask a second time as my jaw drops and the strong organs enter their own ballet hidden behind our sealed lips from the rest of the world.

My hands meet at the centre of her stomach, closeing around the thick fabric and dextrously pulling the button from its fastening. The sound of the zipper does reach my ears as it descends but my senses are much more focused on the noise of Hermione's frantic breaths and the heavy scent of her arousal gradually filling the room.

Since the moment the sun's rays touched my skin out in the grounds I had wanted nothing more than to press against this woman, currently sat astride me, in an intimate embrace. As such I forgo the usual inconvenience of disrobing her and hook my fingers over the waistband of her underwear, sliding the appendage against her most personal folds, the edges of the open zipper scrape against the back of my hand, then along my wrist, almost as if offended by the intrusion.

Her heated flesh practically burns my chilled digits and the almost startled gasp that escapes her into my mouth is like music to my ears. She presses her knees much more heavily into the thin mattress, rising up over me in an attempt to afford me more room but all she really achieves is to pull her clothing more tightly around her lower half, constricting my movement to such an extent that all I am really able to do is bend my middle finger at the knuckles and press my fingertip between her folds.

In our current position I am only able to press into her to the second knuckle of my finger and I do not have enough space to maneuver into a more favourable position, not without breaking my wrist or removing my hand entirely. The decision is truly agonising and before I can contemplate exactly how painful a fractured wrist can be, Hermione takes resolution out of my hands completely. Rolling her hips forward and grinding down hard onto the heel of my hand.

With a single fluid movement her fingers thread through the strands of my hair, clutching at my scalp, pulling harshly so my lips separate from hers with an audible pop. She rests her forehead against mine as she rises above me again, rapid breath flows over most of my face as her eyes flutter open, showing me her pupils now blown to the size of saucers.

The only noise she makes is a highly enticing, breathless whimper as she descends once more, pressing more forcefully against my hips, crashing against my torso with such ferocity that I am forced to tighten the muscles all along my lower back to keep from toppling into the wall behind me.

I push against my free hand, sliding it further over the top of her thigh, along her side and settling in the deepest curve of her spine; providing some sense of support for her in such a precarious position. She barely even seems to notice my movement, too busy moving above me, the speed of her thrusts rapidly increasing along with the volume and length of her groans. All the while holding my gaze in a vice like grip, playing on my fascination with the constant contraction and dilation of her pupils, the thin line of her iris gradually turning from a pale brown to a shade of pitch.

I many be able to smell her rapidly reaching her peak, be able to feel the evidence of it pooling in my palm and my highly tuned ears can hear every catch of breath but never before have I had the privilege of watching her begin to come undone, through those portals into her very soul.

With every rolling movement I can feel her thighs beginning to quake around mine, her hands tightening against the roots of my hair and what's more I can see it. The way she fights and struggles to keep her eyes open, locked with mine. So I can witness the ecstasy brought to another from the inside out.

When the hollow sound of the door knocking reaches our ears everything breaks. The natural spell held between the two of us, the steady rhythm of her hips, even eye contact as she presses her nose deeply into the join between my shoulder and neck with a long, frustrated groan. All of her muscles are still trembling and without any leverage I am unable to continue what we had started and hope Hermione's frantic noises drove away whoever dared to interrupt.

Instead I have to settle for the intimidating growl that rumbles through my chest and turning my aggravated gaze to the offending structure. The voice that travels through it does little more than cause the daunting noise I am emitting, to double in volume. "Are you two awake yet?" I swear Nancy Ivybridge will not survive the day. Not with the mood she has currently forced me into.

"Go away!" I hadn't intended for my voice to sound so clipped, to lace it with just the barest edge of a threat but when I hear it I know it would have been unfeasible to suppress it.

"Yeah, well that doesn't work for me." Nancy say's through the door, having the audacity to be irritated with me. "The longer you two are in there, the more chance someone is going to find out that, the two of you have been in there."

She makes a valid point but in my current state I couldn't care less if she went and screamed it from the castle spires. Just so long as I could be left alone with this woman for the next few hours. Still I hold my tongue, as best I can, another rumble of discontent echoing off my ribcage and lacing through my whispered words. "I'm going to kill her."

Hermione, who has managed to compose herself enough to form coherent speech but not to halt the shuddering of her muscles from head to toe, gives a snort of laughter. "No you won't."

"Just watch me." I answer in all seriousness.

Her grip on my hair loosens and she presses her palm into my collarbone to push herself upright; the other drops between us and closes over my forearm in a silent request to remove my hand from inside of her clothing, something that I am more than a little disinclined to do. "It's not that bad." She says, just as she has manages to coax my invading limb from its warm habitat.

I did have the full intention of allowing her to remove my hand without incident but her words, which she had tried so hard to make sound candescent, even around her strained voice and rapid breaths, leaves me with something to prove. As such the single finger that had been buried so shallowly inside her, hooks at the end catching on that enflamed bundle of nerves that is still straining for attention. Her eyes close in a show of pure delight and her breathing shudders, hitching audibly on the inhale. "You were saying?" I goad, knowing it was hardly necessary and considering the fire that lights behind her lidded eyes when they are dragged open, it wasn't exactly the wisest words I could have spoken.

She catches her tongue between her front teeth and takes a deep breath to compose herself. Beyond her scathing death glare she completely ignores my comment. "We'll just have to wait." With her hand flat against my breastplate, she pushes back and clambers to her feat, stepping back to lean heavily against the desk. Running her fingers through her hair and I am left to wipe my damp palm against the bedspread.

Nancy, who is not renowned for patience gives a long-suffering sigh from the other side of the door. "Look, make sure you're both decent because I'm coming in."

Hermione's fingers are shaking as I hear the key scrape against the lock, pins and barrels shifting to grant entrance. It's only when I see the knob shift that I realise she is having so much trouble with the fastenings to her trousers. I'm on my feet in an instant, pressing the flat of my hand against the withered wood and throwing it closed once more. "Hey!" Nancy shouts from the other side pushing against it violently.

"Can you just give me a minuet?" I call back through the door, my eyes dropping to Hermione's fidgeting hands.

"Really?" She calls back and I can hear her agitated scream, muffled in some way, possibly by her hands. "Jamelia, just open the damned door!"

"In a minuet!" Only after I hear her huff of frustration and the scuff of her shoes on the shiny stone do I dare lower my hand from the door. Reaching out to touch my fingertips to the back of Hermione's quaking hands, I try to draw her attention to the seemingly impossible task she has set them. "Hermione?"

She audibly sighs, dropping her hands down to her sides. "Can you help me with this?"

I make a low sound in the back of my throat and bring both halves of the martial together, pushing the metal button through its loop. "I don't think you've ever asked me to redress you before." I have the zipper pulled high into position before she responds but she doesn't do so verbally; running her fingers once more through my hair and angling my head in such a way that, even with our difference in height she is able to force her mouth against mine. Her tongue pressing against my lips and practically demands an audience with mine. I'm barely in any position to argue.

So when Nancy succumbs to her own sense of paranoia that's how she finds us, hand clutching the doorknob and rearing up a step at the sight. "For the love of Merlin." She turns on the spot, without missing a beat and disappears around the doorframe.

Breaking away from Hermione, yet again is a chore and I have to take a calming breath as Hermione hands slide out of my hair, down along my cheeks. "Now can I kill her?" I ask again, still in all seriousness, already planning where I might hide the body. A girl like Nancy it might take days for anyone to notice she was even missing and I could steal Hermione's wand. Or even Nancy's, she won't miss it.

She titters as though I would jest about such matters. "The answer is still no."

I feel myself grumble, the scent of her still invading me, intoxicating me and rational thought all but leaves me until I shake my head; pulling Hermione tighter against me so I can tuck her head under my chin, waiting for her muscles to stop shaking from her denied release. "Are we going to get any privacy today?"

"Outlook is bleak." She answers, gripping onto my clothing and nuzzling against my skin.

"Whatever you two are doing, stop it." Nancy's voice filters into the room, still unseen somewhere in the corridor and I can hear her pacing steps. "We have places we need to be and quite frankly, it's just a little bit creepy."

"Creepy she says." I mutter, untangling myself from Hermione and virtually storming out of the room. "You think my relationship is creepy? Yet the way Mora carries on with that Neanderthal, that's perfectly fine."

"Yeah." Nancy says, her eyes on the ceiling in thought. Her back leaned heavily against the wall and her arms crossed. "You may have me there, she does have you beat in the creepy factor but at least Richardson is a wizard."

"That's debateable. Considering how much of an idiot he is." I return, noticing Hermione trying to remain inconspicuous as she closes the door behind her.

This look spreads across Nancy's face. It's sinister and conniving. Indicating how scathing her next words are meant to be even before she draws breath. "At least he's human."

It should have burned, right down to my soul, those few words should have hurt but they don't. A sparse few weeks or even days ago maybe they would have done but today. She can't touch me with that today, where I wouldn't be able to describe myself as human any longer, I'm beginning to wonder if that's a bad thing or not. "Well, at least I don't have to pay for it."

Both of the women around me stare at me with mouths agape for two very different reasons, Hermione because she is shocked at the meaning of my words and Nancy because not only did I refuse to rise to the bait but it also didn't appear to effect me in the slightest. The latter of the two is the first to recover slouching down still further and I can see her commenting to memory that mention of my affliction doesn't have any adverse effects on me any longer. "You have a point there. She did reduce the rate though."

"That doesn't make it better, Ivybridge." I rebuff.

Slowly, almost lethargically she shrugs. "Does in some circles."

We both turn to the side at Hermione's small titter and after realising she is under such scrutiny uncomfortably clears her throat. "You aren't joking? Are you?"

"Not even a little bit, princess." Nancy says in a highly sarcastic manor, before cocking her head to the side to indicate the speechless Gryffindor. "Sheltered that one. Isn't she?" She watches my darkening look and I can see the thoughts sparking off behind her eyes, if my disorder won't get a rise out of me she's found something that will. She doesn't push it though, files it away and saves it for when it'll hurt me more. With a grin to show me how proud of herself she is, she runs her eyes over my form, the smug expression fading slightly. "Well you certainly are a picture of health this morning."

My arms cross over my chest to mimic her almost defensive posture. "Must you sound so disappointed?"

"No, I'm impressed." She turns her gaze to Hermione, unhooking her arms and throwing out of thumb in my direction. "What healing spells are you using?"

Still reeling from the small interaction she had been witness too Hermione offers little more than a tight-lipped smile. "Trade secrets, I'm afraid."

"I'll just bet they are." Nancy replies with a small titter laced through her words, her hand goes deep into her pocket and she throws a small silver badge in my direction, which I catch as it rebounds off my chest. "The boy who lived does have to keep living somehow."

I turn the small talisman around in my fingers then hold it out for her to see, even though she already knows exactly what it is I hold. The words 'Inquisitorial Squad' catching in the false light surrounding us shining as I twist and turn it. "What's this in aid of?"

With a deep breath she pulls her lower lip between her teeth, a few last second calculations firing off in her mind. "It's Saturday, I have better things to be doing than carting you around the castle and keeping you out of bloody trouble." That doesn't exactly answer my question, so I once more indicate the small badge in my grasp. "It's a beacon. Now you know what to do, just don't be stupid."

"Why would you do that?" Hermione asks suddenly but stills her tongue when I send her a quick look from under my eyebrows. The situation is more than a little fragile and any sort of strain could bring it tumbling down.

"Because I can." Nancy replies with a smug smile, pushing herself off from her leaning post and bending close to me, lowering her voice to barely more than a whisper. "Stay out of sight." She warns in a slow voice.

At the word 'beacon' I had looked down at the shiny silver badge in my grasp but as Nancy utters her softly spoken caution she makes to pass me by, my hand reaches out to lightly grasp at her upper arm. Not with enough pressure to hold her steady but positioned in such a way that it has the potential to do so. Though she stands maybe half a head shorter than me I am still able to look up at her in a semi submissive pose.

Submission and stoicism has its advantages. Visibility ranks high on that list. It takes less than a second for Nancy to realise that I am trying to glimpse the motives behind her actions; her face quickly is stripped of all emotion and thought but that spilt second had been enough. She may very well have things she needs to attend to but if that were the case it would be simple to attend to some of my personal needs, evict Hermione from my room and leave me to my incineration. This runs so much deeper; whatever she needs she thinks she needs it from me.

I hold her gaze for a few heartbeats, a silent exchange happening between us that neither of us fully understand, only knowing that we have been able to puzzle out what the other is trying to achieve. The reasoning behind them, are lost to both of us.

Whatever her play may be it currently appears that it is too my advantage so I don't openly question her. "You too." I reply.

"Oh I wouldn't worry about that." She says and begins to strut off down the corridor. She could stand in a room, surrounded by hundreds of people and no one would notice her standing in the shadows. "Be back for eight." Her voice echoes down the hallway and she disappears from sight.

"Okay." Hermione says slowly, her gaze following after Nancy but her stride brings her closer to me. "I think there were a lot of layers to that, which I didn't understand."

"Neither do I, yet." I respond and only offer her a vague smile to counter her confused look, turning over the broach once more then pushing it into my pocket for safe keeping. Whatever the other Slytherin is plotting will come to light only when she deems it necessary and the mere fact that she is actively throwing every perk she has at her disposal at my feet is enough to set my mind to rest. So I take a step forward, running my hands over the curve of her hips and drag her attention back to me, with a very satisfied grin plastered to over my face, body humming and alive with anticipation. "We may get that privacy after all."

She raises an eyebrow, trying to look stern over where my mind has ultimately lead to, but failing miserably as her hands are still shaking violently and the glazed look in her eye as they run over me is enough to indicate that she is thinking the same thing. "You look so choked up about it. What are you going to do about your beacon?"

"Have you seen Crookshanks around lately?"

~X~

I don't know who started it, possibly me but there's no way to be certain. Either way were grasping and clutching at each other as though we may never see one another again by the time we reach her Gryffindor prefect chambers. Her hands under my robes and scratching along my shoulders, mine hooked around her hips and pulling her against me through every step. I end up walking backwards for the most part, too lost in her scent to bother with anything as tiresome as looking where I'm going.

In honesty it wouldn't have been nearly as frustrating or difficult to reach our own private sanctuary, had we been able to keep our hands to ourselves. However to resist was just not an option, so as a consequence her back ends up pressed against her doorway with her lips far to occupied to utter her password. I know this to be a hindrance but it's far to important, just to keep kissing her, too keep pressing my body against hers to keep every form of contact I can when we are both so fully dressed, even if a little dishevelled.

It doesn't feel as though I can help it, the craving is so powerful, since the moment the suns rays graced my skin. It's overwhelming; that incessant need and nothing I do can quench it.

When she finally turns her head to the side I am forced to break the seal of our kiss, opting to run my lips along the curve of her jaw and raise my hands along the sides of her body, dipping beneath the thick woollen jumper and letting my thumbs explore her heated skin. Her password is spoken as a gentle whisper, almost lost in the symphony of ragged breathing but the door recognises the word and gives out from under us.

Our lips once more seal together and as one we both take an unsteady step into the room. My arms wrapping more squarely around her, in some strange need to keep her upright, when I feel certain that we have almost toppled because of my enthusiasm. It takes less than a moment for me to gather my bearing and with another awkward step I kick out behind me to close the door.

She seems to take the firm slam of the door as an indication to take the initiative, pressing her hips more fully against mine so I am forced to back up several tiny steps, until I find my back pressed up against the unyielding wood. The switch in dynamics may not have been wholly foreseen but isn't unwelcome, not when her hips have slanted to the side and press against me in a way that makes my eyes roll back behind my lids. One of my hands lands against the side of her neck, my thumb lightly pressed into her jaw line to prevent her turning away from me a second time.

I don't know if it's by accident but her teeth press against my bottom lip, the sharp outline stinging against the flesh and I feel myself growl. It's low and deep but to my ears not at all menacing. Not a threat or a warning but almost a call. The most primal half of my being calling out into the world and needing her just as much as I do.

My affection lavished on her lips becomes more zealous, messy and open mouthed, pushing her backwards until she collides with the first sturdy object in our path, which just happens to be her desk. Using what small amount is left of my rational thought, I send a quick thanks to any gods that are listening for her excessive neatness, the flat surface in question being entirely free of clutter negates any need to clear it and I quite simply, do not have the patience to make it all the way over to her bed.

Blindly I grope around at the clasp of her tight jeans, succeeding in finding the seam where the material meets but no amount of tugging will pull it lose, not when I am in such a state of desperation. With a grunt of irritation I pull back from her lips and focused on the seemingly insurmountable task of undressing her. Pulling at the button almost violently, the zip sliding down with unnecessary force. The flats of my palms run under the hem and push downwards, shifting the trousers along with her underwear to just past her knees. Her legs shift in her stance in an effort to aid me pulling them down and off her body but I can't wait, that hunger, that need driving me and with a small push she is perched on the edge of the desk.

Her jaw drops to make some form of feeble protest by my fingers are already gliding along the inside of her thighs. He knees drop open at the touch and I am able to press into her, my free hand reaching out to lean against the desk and my hips stepping between her parted thighs. For a moment she loses all breath, the intrusion halting everything with her for just a second but it isn't long before her fingers are once more weaving into the strands of my hair, tugging me forward into a deep and uncoordinated kiss. It's seconds before we find a rhythm, it's hard, it's fast and it's desperate. I can both feel and hear her moaning into my mouth, reaching out to clutch at any scrap of material that covers my back.

All of a sudden something over takes me, something I know I've forgotten and I can't let it lie. With a jerking movement I pull away from her lips, opening my eyes to watch hers chase mine. The movement of both my wrist and hips not halting for a moment but my free hand finds her cheek, the pad of my thumb running over her cheekbone. "Open your eyes." I say unsurprised to find myself breathless.

"What?" She replies, her face filled with confusion but still does as I ask, shocked that I would utter a single word in such an intimate moment.

Twisting my wrist I try to find another angle within her, pushing my thumb against the tiny bundle of nerves that forces her eyes closed again. "I want to see." I answer.

For a moment I don't think she understands, her mind lost to euphoria but comprehension soon clouds her eyes and she takes a firm grip on the back of my head, shifting and moving with each of my thrusts; so focused on gazing deep into my eyes, letting me watch those pupils blow wide within her iris that she all but forgets to utter a sound. Usually so vocal, but so focused on handing this part of herself over to me that all she can do is feel.

I see her orgasm before I feel it. It pushes her pupils skywards and her lids have no choice but to close. Less than a heartbeat later her grip on both my shoulder and my hair tightens to the point of pain and her inner muscles squeeze so tightly on my intruding digits that if I did not press so tightly into her they would be forced from inside of her.

She pitches forward as her body is thrown into ecstatic turmoil for a second time, her forehead pushing hard against my collarbone and this time she loses herself to her release, her vocal cords staining as she screams.

The angle she has put herself at forces me to still inside of her and it's probably a good thing I did, it's many seconds before I feel her breath explode against my neck. She had been holding it right at the back of her throat and as it cascades across my skin I feel myself shudder. The hunger for her dulled for now but in no way satisfied.

In the moments of calm that follow I press my lips against her unruly hair and slowly run my hand in circles over her back. Waiting for her to loosen her grip of me, to pry her fingers away from where they had latched onto. When they do her hands find my cheek and direct my sights downwards, her lips closing over mine in an embrace that feels equal parts grateful and relived.

Somehow, we do eventually make it over to her bed, depriving each other of our clothing along the way. Hours pass before a sleepless night and our energetic activates become too much for Hermione, dragging her down into a deep slumber. The beat of the midday sun preventing me from following her down into the depth of sleep but it does give me time to run both my gaze and the pads of my fingers over the marvel that I can share this bed with. Wondering what I must have done in this life or any other to be rewarded with such a companion.


	47. Chapter 47: Like Cats and Dogs

Chapter 47

"You are late." Nancy begins, while pushing herself from her leaning post to point an accusing finger at me. "I said eight o'clock."

My hands are in my pockets and my posture could easily be considered slouched. "You did, but I got held up." To prove my point I show her back of my hand riddled with, tiny welts and scratched. "That cat really does hate me."

"Would probably help if you weren't such a bitch." She comments, her left eye squinting every so slightly. A meaningless tick to anyone else but in that tiny tell I can see she just trying to see if this provokes any sort of rise out of me.

I don't give her what she is looking for, instead using the tip of my thumb to flick the small silver badge towards her. She catches it, pressing her hand flat against her chest. "He can't hold that against me." I don't break my stride install I am half way through the open door to my tiny chamber, resting the flat of my hand against the frame until I have her full attention once more. "It is only once a month."

She pulls her shoulders into a slow shrug and drops her gaze to the floor. Hoping to hide that look that spreads across her face to tell me I have reacted just how she had wanted. "If we're talking literally, yeah. Besides cats can be funny like that."

"That, they can." I reply, not bothering to try and conceal the laughter threaded through my words. My sprits are too high and the more I play into Nancy's hands, the quicker she'll divulge exactly why she keeps throwing these privileges at my feet. I push further into my quarters pausing to empty my pockets onto the desk.

"You know," Nancy, says and I turn my head to watch her lean sideways against the doorframe, her posture relaxed even if her face and eyes are tense, always keeping up the pretence. "You're much more agreeable after you've had sex."

I feel my forehead crease ever so slightly at the observation. "Of course I am." is my response as my watch drops to the withered wood. "Aren't you?"

Again she shrugs, slowly and lethargically. "Not especially." Her eyes are everywhere, over every surface, delving into every shadowed corner. Hunting. For what, I'm not completely sure but she has yet to find anything. "It's always been… Well you know."

"A tool." I supply turning to rest my hip against the wood, only slightly unnerved when it shifts in place and forces the wall to take most of my weight. "Or a weapon."

"Well, yeah." She says very slowly, as if she doesn't quite want to agree with me but has no other way to describe it. Then her eyes meet mine and she continues in a very accusatory tone. "You taught me that, remember."

"I know." I admit, folding my arms over my chest and moving my gaze to the bedspread. "I was wrong." So wrong about so many things, so much of this world holding beauty and delight. All those years and all I wanted to do, was taint that, with blood and mayhem and death. Still I know I'm learning the error of my ways. Suppose that has to be something. With a long sigh I push off from the desk, sinking down onto the thin mattress and running my fingers over my eyes.

"Did you just admit you were wrong?" Nancy draws my attention back to her and refuses to continue before I have pulled my hands down my face and given it to her. "Can I get that on record?"

Feel the laughter bubbling in the pit of my stomach and let it filter out towards the ceiling as I rest back on my outstretched arms. "Wild horses couldn't drag it out of me a second time." She joins me in my mirth but hers is forced. An outward show of amusement but her mind has long since left the current conversation. Tilting my head to the side I observe her, she's not paying any attention to me anyway so I am free to make an open appraisal. Whatever it was this morning I was trying to see is surfacing now. It's in her eyes, it's in her movements, it's in the way that she is makes excuses to linger in my doorway. "Is there something else you wanted?" I gently query and she snaps out of her inner thoughts.

She takes a moment to lean back on her perch and glance down the expanse of corridor. After letting her tongue pass between her closed lips once to moisten them she finally builds enough courage to ask the simplest of questions. "Can I come in?"

The enquiry startles me somewhat. Considering she is half way into the room anyway and I have no viable method to eject her, suggests that she has no reason to ask. She could simply take what she wishes but that in itself might dampen my mood and all of a sudden I realise she had been trying to soften me up for something. This realisation, which granted I did have inkling about, sets me on edge. Under normal circumstances she would have much more patience, eased me in a certain direction before actively seeking me out. This is rushed and unplanned, which is probably the most unnerving part of the whole exchange. "You have the key."

She sighs slowly and I can see her face contorting in disappointment. "You're not going to make this easy, are you?"

She is seriously seeking my permission to enter. That thought alone has me sober somewhat. So very slowly and deliberately I toe off both of my shoes. Pull myself further into the bed until my back hits the cold stonewall. Both my knees and hips fold until my feet rest flat on the bed. "Close the door behind you." I say, careful to structure my voice into a neutral tone, letting her interpret those words how she sees fit.

She hesitates because she knows what I'm doing. The sentence can be taken either way, either a dismissal or an invite. How she reads into it tells me how much she wants whatever she wishes to discuss and I don't think she is quite ready to tip her hand just yet. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth in thought before she steps into the room and slowly closes the door behind her. Reaching into her robes she takes the time to light the candle on the desk so we are not forced to suffer in both silence and darkness. Then turns the rickety chair out into the room and slowly takes a seat.

Seconds, minuets tick by and no one moves. Entering into this timeless battle that I must endure again and again. Always waiting for the other to begin. Neither of us wanting to be the white piece, to make that first move. So we sit, in the mounting tension, glaring at each other, each daring the other to play their hand.

There always comes a point when the respectful silence, stops being respectful and Nancy knows that I am happy to allow it to stretch past the point of awkward, so gives in with a long sigh as she leans back in the wooden chair. "I want out."

I have to force myself to blink. Just that split second with fewer stimuli, trying to puzzle out exactly what that means. "Out of the Inquisitorial Squad?"

"Yes." She says then closes her eyes to look away. "No." Her hand comes up to her forehead, her thumb resting on her temple as her fingers run across the skin in an attempt to order her words. "Out of everything."

My eyes narrow in suspicion, unseen behind her closed eyelids. "Why?"

Her shoulders sag, low to the ground and from her position, almost doubled over she looks up at me. The dynamics from this morning entirely flipped on its head but she's not trying to see anything. For once she's trying to show me, to convey everything without having to speak, the hopelessness, the desperation all are in her eyes. "Does it matter?"

"Does to me." I respond and watch her head drop into both of her hands. There's no way she truly expected to receive anything from me without an explanation, although the hope of it might have been playing on her mind. Slowly I relax my thighs, until they part and I cross my legs over the mattress so I can lean forward and not give out such an intimidating air. "Think of this from my perspective. I've been in your custody for two days and one evening. It all feels a little rushed. So forgive me for thinking this might be a trap."

"It's not." She is quick to counter, meeting my eyes for a moment. "And that means absolutely nothing to you."

"Afraid not." I reply. "For some reason, you think I can help you. Then you expect me to do so all on faith. I'm sorry I can't do that." It takes me a moment to realise that I've apologised and even though I had not intended to I try not to draw any further attention to it.

Nancy notices, as she always does. Jerking her head up so quick I would be surprised if she didn't give herself whiplash, she smart enough not to comment though. "Look, we both know the curse on the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. Umbridge isn't going to be around for much longer, she can't be. After that I have no reason to maintain contact with you and I cannot let this opportunity pass me by."

"What makes you so certain I can help you?" I ask in utter bewilderment.

"You've already done it." She replies and from the shake in her voice I can see she is finding it difficult not to begin shouting. "You managed it, weeks before you became a werewolf. How did… I just don't understand how."

"I fell for a muggle born and people found out." I state simply and watch her jaw drop at how honest that small sentence was. Quickly I begin to feel as though I am being scrutinised so I raise my knees once more as a physical barrier between my chest and her eyes.

For a moment the sound becomes stuck in the back of her throat, she has to cough to clear it. "You and Granger were together before?"

"Yes." I say, a little perplexed. "I thought this was common knowledge?"

"No." Nancy begins slowly shaking her head and I can see her rifling through her memory banks behind her eyes. "I didn't know about that."

"Well my father found out. Cut me off and that was the end of that story." I know that I am heavily editing that series of events but have no wish to either divulge this to NancyIvybridge, who could very easily use this information against me, nor relive the experience. "It's relatively simple when you think about it."

Nancy laughs and it is actually filled with mirth. "Na, my mom wouldn't cut me off for that. She'd probably be happy about it." slowly she uses the tips of her fingers to rub her left eye, lost in some parts of her memory that clearly bring her joy. "And my dad. Well, he's a muggle. So you can probably tell how he'd feel about it." She comes back to herself and meets my eye. "Look I feel in with the wrong crowd, it just took me a while to realise that."

"You wanted it. Just as much as I did." With the added benefit that it was her dream, not one of her parents. "Now you've changed your mind?"

"Yes." She stops and waits for me to say something but it doesn't take her nearly as long to realise that I have no intention of doing so. "Look, when we were eleven. He was my dad, he was telling me what to do and when to do it and I could have blown him up with my wand, with just a word. Soon as I got my letter, as soon as I knew that I was a witch he was, I don't know, beneath me I suppose. Slytherin, Draco, you and all the Dark Lords followers catered to that state of mind. Then it just got worse."

"So what changed?"

"Lots of thinks I suppose." Her hand reaches up to run along the back of her neck in a show of nerves and thought. "After Christmas last year, you didn't come back for over a month." I close my eyes slowly, I know she's watching me, I can feel it but I don't care. She's brining up demons I was trying to bury, I dug a whole far deeper than six foot and spend months stamping down on their graves. "When you came back the rumours started."

"They're not true." I cut in quickly, feeling bile bubble in my belly and clamber up my throat. "Not entirely."

"But you did kill him." She states, coldly and simply. "Didn't you?"

Resting my arms over my knees my hands begin to push against each other and they become the most fascinating thing in the world. "Yes."

"I don't care how or why you did that. I'm sure you had your reasons." As she says this she holds up a calming hand in my direction palm out. "It's not the point. It was everyone's reaction. Did you hear any of the rumours?"

I feel a snort of laughter leave my lips, not an ounce of humour attached to it. "I fabricated most of them. He wasn't trying to force himself on me if that's what you're asking."

"No, I gathered that because you'd have let him." Her jaw tightens beneath the skin in equal parts anger and restraint. "Everyone thought you should have just let him. Draco, Gregory, even Pansy. All of them. It doesn't matter if it's true or not, I couldn't abide by that mentality."

"So all talk of murder, violence, and prejudice. That's all fine." I begin my tone mocking. "Rape just a little bit too far for you is it? Considering you've just admitted you use your body as a weapon."

"Now you're just twisting it." Her index finger extends in my direction with an almost violent movement, and her voice raises a few decibels to show her distress. "Yeah, okay. I use sex to get what I want." That jabbing finger turns towards her to point tensely at her own chest. "When I decide that's what I want. Not when some guy decides it's his turn."

"That's a very fine line, you don't want to cross." I say slowly, finally taking the attention away from my hands and meeting her gaze. The look on her face is somewhere between livid and murderous so I don't continue with that line of thought out loud. Instead completely change the subject to a topic she has already indicated will make her much more compliant. "You can't just extract yourself. Draco relies on you too much."

"Only when it comes to reporting every move you make." She replies. "Which he's quite obsessed about at the moment."

"Yeah," I reply stretching out the word "He would be." I only continue after having provoked Nancy into raising both eyebrows in question. "I may have made him look like a fool."

She snorts slightly. "He does that himself most of the time."

"Not in front of the Dark Lord, he doesn't."

"Oh, is that why he had Crabbe and Goyle try to kick you into next week?" She asks, the tension in the room all but evaporating. Slowly and with a proud grin I nod at her. "Then, you deserved it."

I lean back and close my eyes, remembering that day fondly. "It was worth it. You should have seen the look on his face. Bloody priceless." When I finally settle my eyes back on her she's smirking. "His interest in me will die down the more boring I get. Or, to be more accurate, the more boring your reports get, the less interest he will have in me."

The words have barely left my mouth and she has already grasped onto the meaning of them. "So you'll help me."

Ignoring her entirely I continue. "It won't be enough though. Your support is much more important than any information you can give him. He's only truly as powerful as the sum of his followers. For any sort of clean break you'll need to become useless before you start being counterproductive to him."

"Whoa, slow down there." Nancy cuts in. "I didn't say anything about actively going against him."

"Nancy." I begin, threading an almost disported tone into my voice. "You wish your family to stay intact correct?" Mutely she nods in my direction, she's not shocked that I was able to detect the note of affection that she had used when referring to her parents, just a little stunned that I drew attention to it. "Then you'll have to fight for it." I inform her. "Probably more so than most, Draco will take that sort of thing personally."

"That's what I'm afraid of." She admits to me, her tone light but her face tense with worry. "That's why I need your help."

"You want me to defect the attention when it comes to that." I say, watching her swallow and nod slowly. It is a sound plan but it does require a lot of cooperation on my part, makes it easy to see why she is so nervous about the whole thing. Slowly I press the palms of my hands into the mattress, pushing myself forward until my legs hang off the side of the bed. Effectively asserting myself into her field of vision, no matter how intently she wishes to stare at the floor. "I will help you Nancy but this is not a one way arrangement. There are things I need from you as well."

She meets my gaze, steadily. "What kind of price are we talking about?"

"In the short term. Umbridge needs to go." I reply.

"The curse…"

I cut through her speech before it ever truly begins. "Only applies to the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. The position of headmistress is not. Now, even if my disagreements with the woman are irrelevant, she will oppress Harry and in doing so will insure the Dark Lord's victory in this war."

Her eyes narrow as she digests this information and slowly I watch as her jaw clenches. Just scratching at the surface of the things she must become involved in if she truly wishes to change her nature. "I can see why you wouldn't want that to happen. Can't imagine she would take too kindly to know-it-all Granger stalking about, like she owns the place."

It's a raw nerve and it's one that she continually prods and I feel half of my face twitch, it's almost undetectable but I can still feel it, then watch the glint light up behind her eye. "Precisely." At this point we both let the silence stretch on, with her making a decision that could last a lifetime and me still trying to puzzle out if she is serious. The only way I can actually prove to myself that I can trust her is to test it and I know just how to go about doing that. "Do we have a deal?" I finally ask, uncharacteristically breaking the uneasy quiet first and holding my hand outstretched.

Her hand is in mine and gripping tightly, pressing my bones together before she utters a word, before she can change her mind if the look on her face is anything to go by. "I take it you have a plan."

I show her my teeth in a feral grin, realising her hand and standing from the bed. "I always have a plan Ivybridge."

"Stupid question, really." She says, looking up at me from her seated position, a split second before she takes the hint that I am requesting her to leave. She is on her feet and tidying away the furniture, already reaching out to unlock the magical door, my eyes are keenly on the hinges as it swings towards me, looking for any sort of weakness in the structure. I am more than happy that it will hold firm when I am forced to drag my eyes away so Nancy can't see the direction of my gaze, it won't do to give away all of my secrets too soon. "You're going to need to tell me what I've gotten myself into at some point."

"Of course, I just need to iron out some details first." She passes beneath the threshold and I am afforded enough room and casually lean my arm over the top of the door. The fact that I need to prove to myself exactly where her allegiances lie goes unsaid but still it hangs heavily in the air between us. "Till then you'll just have to trust me."

"Well that's a sobering thought." She comments looking down into her palm at the small silver badge close encasing within her fingers. "You really put this on a cat?" She asks in disbelief, wishing to leave on a slightly lighter note, a common tactic, that might help me to accept this sudden change in her attitude. She watches me slowly shrug then shakes her head with a low chuckle. "Keeps it moving all day; very clever."

"It is really a beacon?" I query.

"Oh yeah," She relies attaching the small badge back to the lapels of her robes. "She's got this map and we all show up like little glowing dots. She knows where we are, how long we've been there. It's a bit invasive but she's paranoid." She finishes with a shrug.

I feel a frown crease my features. Up until this moment I had thought that she was just trying to establish some strange, uneasy trust by handing me such an object, now it appears that I might have been used to dispose of it for a day. "So where exactly have you been today?"

"Oh Jamie." She says, still managing to draw a mocking tone into that particular nickname. "A girl's got to have some secrets." Her fingers touch her forehead and pull away sharply, some bizarre gesture somewhere between a solute and a wave and she turns without any further word of explanation to walk away down the corridor. "Have a good night." She throws over her shoulder.

Steeping out to the very edge of the doorway I rest my arm against the frame to lean against it, watching my new ally disappear around a corner, still able to follow her stride with my sensitive ears and wonder exactly what I have gotten myself into.

As I close the door behind me, feeling the magic take effect and locking me inside, Ammy who had been eagerly gazing at the exchange behind my eyes chooses to speak. 'And that Human, is why you were chosen.'

~X~

When my keeper comes to collect me the following morning she finds me hunched over my desk scratching away at a piece of parchment that is beginning to roll together at both the top and bottom. A pile of parchment to my right, all held flat by both a heavy tomb, and the candlestick that has been my only source of light this past night; now burned right down to the wick.

"Well someone has been busy." Nancy comments and out of the corner of my eyes I see her pocketing the heavy iron key to my room. I offer her a quick glace to acknowledge her presence then return to my scribbling. "Have you even, you know, slept?"

Keeping my eyes on the nib of my quill has it dips deeply into the black ink. My mind still practically on fire, from the suns healing effects early yesterday morning, all of those half formed ideas I couldn't stop myself from putting to paper in one form or another. Some things still call for a practical test but I now at least have a logical and designed order to execute them. Quite frankly sleep has been the furthest thing from my mind for quite some time now. "Who needs sleep?"

"Pretty much the whole of the human race." She replies slightly distracted by the parchment at my side slowly reaching out to push the book to the side so she is able to see more clearly.

Quickly I reach out, my palm covering the book and I deliberately position it over the whole of the work to keep her prying eyes away. At present her loyalties are still unexplored territory, it's to my advantage that she is aware of how deeply I am allowing my mind to puzzle this out but not to permit her to see my conclusions. "As you so often point out, I'm not human."

"I'm sure werewolves need sleep too." As my frown turns in her direction she doesn't even flinch under my dark look. "Honestly. I'm must have read it somewhere."

Her tone is light, almost bordering on playful, not quite but almost, enough to draw a smile to my lips at any rate. "You must have." With my work now suitably concealed I turn my attention back to the wet ink currently staining the page I am working on. "I'm almost finished." I say, drawing several vertical lines down the sheet.

"Great," She says, stretching the word out into one long breath. "What exactly is it you're finishing?"

I know she can see my smirk, I am also aware that the action indicates to her that I have no intention of answering her question. "All in good time."

"Always bloody is with you." She complains crossing her arms across her chest and taking up most of the doorway with her stance. "How long are you going to be? I'm hungry."

With a few small details I look over the parchment. That's as far as I can take it for now and I blow gently in the ink to dry it. "Done." I comment, pulling my stack of pages out from under the book and rifling through them, knowing exactly what it is I am looking for and where I wish to place this new plan in the pile. After it is stored neatly away I take a long look at a specific page and pull it from the arrangement, folding it and pushing it into the pocket at the front of my trousers.

I make a show of trying to hurry myself along, filling my pockets with the usual articles that I carry around and reattaching my watch to my wrist, leaning over to blow out the candle in the same movement. Turning I am met with an inquisitive look. "You're not going to tell me what this is about. Are you?" She says.

"You already know the answer to that Nancy." I say, watching her eyes narrow. I might have used her given name in the past few days but right now it carries much more weight. The uneasy truce she has requested making it so and I would be a fool not to take full advantage of it. "Shall we go? I thought you were hungry."

She clicks her tongue against her teeth in irritation but doesn't comment; instead stepping out of the way and when I have left the room is courteous enough to close the door behind me. "You know I have to follow you everywhere. Eventually I'm just going to see these plans in action."

"It had crossed my mind." My hands push deep into my pockets and I set my sights forward as we begin to walk to the Great Hall. "However, this way you can't stop me beforehand, can you?"

She sighs in pure frustration. "Fine, I'll play your little game but if I'm going to start having to involve myself in this stuff, I'm going to want to know what it is pretty soon."

Call it lack of sleep, call it a new sense of self-entitlement, call it whatever you will but this morning I feel cocky. I know what I want, what I need and nothing; no one is going to stop me. This is what provokes a smirk of self-satisfaction and a calmly uttered. "We'll see."

She steps in front of me, cutting off my stride and swiftly becomes infuriated when my expression remains the same, even as I pull to a stop. "There's no 'we'll see' about it. We have an agreement."

"Yes we do and when my actions directly includes you, I will involve you. Until then you're going to have to trust me." I say, careful to keep my voice calm and level.

"I just have to trust you? When you here testing me for the same thing." She's pointing, almost jabbing her finger towards my chest in a highly accusatory manor.

"That's the way it works." I step closer to her, invading her personal space and silently commend her ability to stand her ground. Even when she must be terrified of exactly what I could do over such a short distance. "Remember, you need me much more than I need you." That may not strictly be true but need has always been a matter of perspective. If she wants to be free of the dark wizards within this world, as much as she was trying to convey last night, she'll believe every word. "So we play this game until I'm satisfied."

She's far from happy with the arrangement but she doesn't comment. Her pointing finger reaches up to scratch at her ear and she diverts her gaze to a tapestry hanging from the wall. "Fine. I'll play." She may know it; she may even have orchestrated it but that little show of submissiveness is already sparking a grain of trust within me.

"Good." I say slowly watching as she continues to refuse to look in my direction. "Breakfast?" I call out, Stepping around her and along the corridor hiding my smile when she turns and quickens her stride in order to catch up.

When we enter the Great hall it takes but a moment I seek out the students I wish to talk to with both my eyes and ears. It has me confidently striding over towards the Gryffindor table and latching onto Nancy's arm when she threatens to walk right past where I intend to sit to take my morning meal. She even goes as far as running her eyes along the table towards Hermione and Ron who are so deeply immersed in conversation they have failed to notice our arrival. With a small hand gesture concealed by my body to most of the hall, I indicate for her to take a seat ahead of me, giving the illusion that this is her decision to the table occupying the far side of the room.

When I have finally seated myself I link my fingers together over the table top and with my back to Slytherin house I am able to let a bright smile cross my face without fear that it will come back to haunt me at a later date. "Morning boys." I greet to the Weasley twins seated opposite, who abruptly halted their conversation when Nancy was in their field of vision. She does make things difficult, having her constant presence but not impossible.

"Hey Jamie." One of the brothers greets, in honesty they both look so alike that I can barely tell them apart and without the means to just stamp their initials to their foreheads I dub the first one to speak as Fred, if only because he comes first alphabetically. "How are things?" Fred continues his suspicious eyes running over Nancy.

"Don't worry about her." I assure, ignoring her body tensing at my side over the comment. Putting my time spent with Ginny to good use I drive right to the heart of the matter. "I hear through the grapevine, you two are looking for an expulsion."

"Not actively," The boy I have privately named George says, taking my words at face value and all but ignoring Nancy's attendance at the table.

It's Fred who finishes the thought with a nonchalant shrug. "But if it happens, it happens."

I hear Ivybridge snort in irritation as she reaches out for a slice of toast. Seemingly hell bent on paying us as much attention as we are paying her.

"What if I told you I could help you reek a little havoc, before you left?" I offer.

Fred laughs slightly, gesturing between himself and his brother. "I think we might have that covered."

"Oh, when it comes to the pranks themselves you two are most certainly the authority." I say slowly, holding out my hands in a semi pacifying gesture. "But I can give you specific times and specific places where your pranks will have the most effectiveness. It should frazzle a certain Headmistress all the more."

I watch them both slowly grin, almost completely in synchronisation. They share a glance and both lean across the table. As one they speak. "We're listening."

It is truly unnerving when they do that and sometimes it makes me want to associate them as a single being but I am fortunate enough to have been around them in the numerous meetings of Dumbledore's Army so barely react. Slowly I reach into my pocket and draw from it my hand drawn map, several locations and times listed on the page. With a single finger I slide it across the polished wood then once more bridge my fingers. "How do you boys feel about fireworks?"


	48. Chapter 48: Down Memory Lane

Chapter 48

The tears that leak out of the corners of my eyes burn a blazing trail all the way along my cheek to the very tip of my chin but there is nothing I can do about them but feel them blister my skin because my fingers are locked in a hooked pose around the cold porcelain. With another groan and a heave my stomach contracts as it tries to expel its contents. The fact that it was practically empty to begin with doesn't seem to come into the equation, just continuing to clench and strain. Leaving me down on my knees and head bowed.

With a choked off moan, my lower abdominal muscles relax, aching with the exertion and I rest my cheek on the cool seat with my eyes closed, wishing that I could be doing just about anything else in this moment.

Blindingly my arm rises to grope around the wall until I find the handle to wash away the foul smell of potion and stomach acid. It probably would have been wiser to have eaten something today but I just didn't have the time. The Weasley twin's departure from the school may have been both extravagant and long overdue but it's left me running from pillar to post to try to make up for their absence. It's was a losing battle right up until the moment Nancy of all people was able to recruit Peeves back into the fold. That ability to pass through walls has been more than helpful but still I lack the time to think about eating anything substantial most days. Directly in spite of Nancy's constant complaints, "You done yet?" which apparently extends to moments that not even she would be able to continue to eat through.

"No." I try to say back but all that really comes out of my mouth is a negative sounding grunt.

I hear an exasperated sigh from the other side of the cubical door followed by a low mumble of "As if I don't have enough to deal with."

"A little sympathy wouldn't go amiss." Hermione admonishes in her very best prefect voice.

Nancy lets out a short bark of laugher at my groan. "Sympathy? For her?" There's a short pause that is so quite it has me forcing my feet beneath me and I begin fighting with my knees, trying to force them to straighten, just encase the two of them do actually begin to show open hostility. "By Merlin, you're serious."

"Of course I'm serious." Hermione says and I can almost hear the look of righteous indignation that passes over her face. "Considering she's agreed to help you, I don't see that a little compassion is asking too much."

A very long and very pregnant pause follows, then the rattle of the flimsy wooden door makes my muscles jump as Nancy strikes some unseen part of her body against it. "You told her about that?" She shouts, even though a raise in volume isn't needed and all it does is irritate the throbbing behind my eyes.

"Of course I bloody told her." I had hoped for my voice to gather more conviction but the exhaustion is enough for my voice to be uttered in little more than a mutter echoing inside the bowl below my head.

I run the flat of my palm over my sweat soaked hair and along the shell of my ear, lethargically lifting my cheek from its resting place; using every ounce of strength in my arms to push me up and straighten my bent legs.

"Typical." She mutters and I can hear her shoes striking off the ceramic flooring. "And you can wipe that blasted smirk off your face, as well."

Hermione doesn't move, not in any audible way but the sanctimonious look that must be upon her features sings out clearly with every word she utters. "Oh, I know all about you." Her tone could easily be described as menacing and Nancy is already feeling vulnerable over the whole thing. Which does make her somewhat unpredictable, even to me. That thought alone has me pushing much more weight onto my aching muscles than I am strictly comfortable with.

"Why you, self-righteous little upstart." Nancy's shoes once more strike against the tiles but Hermione stands her ground and I can see that without any intervention, they might actually resort to psychical violence this time.

In my haste to exit the cubical sometime before Hermione attempts to issue a detention or Nancy shows her authority by pushing an imprint of her Inquisitorial Squad bandage into Hermione's forehead, one of my feet catches behind my ankle and throws me against the side wall, which shudders suspiciously under my weight.

"Jamie?" Hermione queries, all traces of menace and superior tone melting away, unrelenting concern coming forward to take its place. "You okay in there?"

"Bugger." I utter, pushing my thumb and forefinger into both of my eyes. "Will you two just…" I let out a long-suffering sigh to both combat the nausea and to calm my frayed nerves. Reaching out and pulling open the door slowly, glancing left then right at the two women currently in my company. "Can you just stop fighting, just for now." The look in Nancy's eyes and the tense line of her shoulders is enough to convince me that I am fighting a losing battle on that front. So in desperation I turn earnest eyes to Hermione and give a softly uttered. "Please?"

She manages to bite her lips together before she beings giggling in my direction but has no hope of being able to suppress the slight upturn at the edge of her lips. "Are you really asking me to be civil? To Nancy Ivybridge?"

"I realise that's a little hypocritical." I comment, with a shallow frown.

"A little?" My loud groan echoes around the room upon hearing the tone of her voice, clearly Hermione is firmly set into an antagonistic mood and I can say from experience that there are very few things that can coax her out of such things.

If I'm completely honest I don't have the energy to attempt it, so hold my hands up in the universal sign of surrender and shuffle slowly over to the sinks. "Have at it." I condone, hoping that if they do resort to pulling each other's hair they might be able to do it quietly.

"Aww, now you've upset the puppy." Nancy says, jumping right back into the fray.

"That's enough." There it is, that tone of authority to end a discussion and it quickly becomes apparent that I am not the only Slytherin girl in which that particular candour works on, as Nancy gives a loud huff but doesn't press further. Hermione follows me over to the high sinks, resting her hand over my shoulder in a comforting gesture. I file away the useful knowledge that lack of effort on my part might at least sometimes put my partner in a more agreeable mood. "What's the matter?"

"I'm just tired." I reply in a low voice.

Before I can elaborate further, Nancy falls into my vision along the other side of my body, arms crossed and her entire weight help up by the porcelain bowl. "That's what happens when you spend half an hour retching – which you still need to explain –" She interjects her owns sentence, to point and accusatory finger in my direction. "After you spend the day avoiding every meal."

With just a minuscule turn of my head I am able to glare daggers at the other girl from the corner of my eye. Trying to convey without actually speaking that I would not be adverse to killing for less detrimental comments than that, only for my eyes to slide closed in defeat at hearing the softly spoken question behind me. "You haven't been eating again?"

With more vigour than I should currently possess I turn the cold tap open, cupping my fingers under the icy spray. "Why is everyone so interested in my eating habits?" I ask, hoping that it might be taken as a rhetorical question. Optimistically filling my mouth full of cold, refreshing water as a way to both rid myself of the foul, acidic taste coating my tongue and also as an excuse not to have to speak any further on the matter, at least not until I have had time to carefully calculate my response. It's not something I can see Hermione letting go of any time soon.

"Mostly, because I'm hungry." Nancy offers in an overly offhand way, her attention firmly resting on Hermione, just to see how she will react and possibly to see how much trouble she can get me into with this piece of information she has so recently stumbled across. "And, can they even be called eating habits when you never, well you know, eat?"

Even though I had made no move to swallow the liquid in my mouth, my throat still closes around it, once more drowning on only the contents of my mouth and to avoid any further embarrassment spit the now warm water down the drain along with the lingering taste of bile. Without any direction to turn in that would be to my advancement, I am left to stare down at my hands, gripping onto the ceramics in a move that is equal parts, an excuse not to meet Hermione's eyes and to prevent myself from tearing some important appendage away from Ivybridge with my bear hands.

The gentle touch of Hermione's fingers against my wrist is enough to calm my nerves but not enough for me to meet her eyes. "So when exactly was the last time you ate?"

Nancy snorts loudly at the question. "I don't know. Was it Wednesday?" For a long moment she shows me a closed mouth, smug smile, up until the movement her loud, "Ow," Echoes around the room and she doubles over in order to rub at the shoe print I have left in her shin. She sends me a scathing look that I answer with a grin, which drops right off my face the moment I turn and see disappointment in Hermione's deep eyes.

I've only really seen that look on her face a hand full of times but still I can recognise that my reaction to it is as regular as clockwork.

First comes the irrational outrage, how dare she look upon me like that for something so trivial. The emotion makes me all but forget the tightness deep in my stomach and I have quickly turned on the ball of my foot, throwing up a hand in front of me while simultaneously leaning back against the cold skin. "I just..." The anger holds in my voice but only for a moment, only long enough for me to realise that I am already beginning to doubt myself, already beginning to defend my actions. The heavy sigh is a catalyst, a bridge between a potential outburst and the sag of my shoulders in defeat. "I forgot." The hard tone has already melted out of my voice and I continue down that slippery side, drawing my arms around me, my gaze falling to the floor. I might as well have folded my ears back and tucked my tail between my legs. All of that in the space of three of Hermione's heartbeats and she didn't even need to say a word.

"You forgot?" Nancy asks, not oblivious to my very sudden shift in mood and then back again but as always has something else she would rather address. "You can remember all forty-three uses for Nightshade, yet you forget to eat. Please tell me how that works."

I hold my hand out in front of my in a clear gesture towards the cubical I have just vacated. "Clearly I have not been feeling well." The excuse is all for Nancy's benefit as I am certain that Hermione must have worked out that I had been trying to purge the foul tasking potion from my system that I must been seen to consume at this time of the month. However enduring a few hours of hunger pains and cramping muscles is much preferable to the nightmares that haunt me while in my wolf form, had I allowed myself to fully ingest the Wolfs Bane that I had been forced to swallow in Umbridge's presence. To that end, having an effective gag reflex has never been so useful.

"You have an iron stomach."Her voice is a flat monotone. Obviously neither convinced or impressed with the lie I have just told her. "Or some sort of enhanced willpower."

Lifting one hand from it's crossed pose and press in deeply into my eyes on the side of my body facing Nancy. Effectively covering my face. "Don't be ridicules." Strangest things is she's not, my formative years were filled with an abundance of control over many aspects of my body. Regeneration wasn't something that was acceptable so for me at least, it isn't just the physical act that is painful but also the memoires it tends to stir up because of that I can say with the utmost certainty that there is a burning question behind my ice blue iris'. Wondering how she could know that, even with her powers of observation it's not exactly something that comes to light all that often.

"Really?" She leans forward to glance across my body towards Hermione. "Have you noticed this?"

My partner very quietly shakes her head to indicate she had not. Which is probably a relief because if she really did watch me closely enough to notice even my bodily functions we might never have gotten together in the first place. It's a sobering through to imagine where I would be now if that had been the case.

"Wow." Nancy says, either in disbelief or awe, the turns her eyes to me again. "I suppose you don't have to pull those stunts any more." Right there, that sentence has my heart pounding in my chest, whatever she brings up is in no way going to ender me to Hermione but before I can reach out and clamp a hand down over her mouth she hooks a thumb in my direction. "First year, one of the bigger boys thinks Jamie here," She pauses to send me a satisfied smirk over both the story she is telling and the sarcastic use of my nickname. "is some new fish he can bully about. Had her under the Nent Intra Praecordia for a full minuet."

"It wasn't that long." I force myself to cut in she is exaggerating but not nearly to the extent that I am playing it up to.

Hermione, unfortunately appears to be quite enchanted with the story, giving Nancy a deeply curious look. "I don't even know what that is."

Nancy scoffs very loudly at Hermione's naivety. "Of course you don't"

With Nancy so distracted and having had time to school my facial features properly I run my hand down the side of my cheek to answer Hermione. "It's not dangerous. Just makes your insides feel like they are spinning."

"Yeah, along with everything else in the room." Nancy says with a scoff. "She didn't scream, didn't fall. Fumbled, mind you but I'm pretty certain you didn't throw up. Like everyone else. So don't tell me that feeling a little bit queasy is going to stop you eating. You're practically insulting my intelligence."

"Oh I'm certain I can do that much more directly." Is my initial response and I meet Nancy's eyes for a very long moment, seeing the hard brick wall forming behind her pea green eyes. This is something she isn't going to budge on, no matter how silent I remain. "It just wasn't important." Which was the sentence I had hoped I would not have to resort to, mostly because it's true. Every moment I have spent within the Great Hall over the past few days have been filled with moving about the room as inconspicuously as possible. Passing messages, time, dates and even advise on control of curses. There were a few bites here and there but only for show, only so my presence in each location wasn't noticed, not in any attempt to sustain myself.

At that time it just wasn't essential, wasn't necessary because I was so wrapped up in what I was doing I didn't feel the pangs of hunger, I can admit I am now though. After, quite literally, choking down the first half of my wolf's bane potion at the instance and in the presence of our new headmistress. I was forced to stop and think about my own body, to find some place to empty my stomach. Which I can now say for definite only consisted of exactly one half of wolfs bane potion and more scraps of orange stomach lining than I would be willing to count.

It takes me a moment, but I do eventually meet Hermione's eyes. I'm not really certain what I expect from her but it certainly isn't the open display of curiosity that is fluttering across her face. "Did that really happen?"

"Happens every year." I confirm. "It's an initiation."

"That's on odd way of phrasing it." Her face screws up for just a moment in distaste when a though accursed to her. "Does that mean that you..." She pauses, even going as far as to cease her breathing. "I don't even want to know."

I offer her a tight lipped smile, not a drop of humour but also not an ounce of self deprecation. "Probably not." My words all but confirm that I have been involved in this particular ritual some time after my first year, on the other end of the curse of course. It's hardly worth denying it now.

Hermione sighs, running a hand over her check around a deep calming breath, softly whispering, "Okay." To herself and actively trying to become distanced from the topic that we had been discussing. Reaching under her robes and pulling out a small, folded paper bag. "Here, eat this." Slowly I take the small parcel and after unwrapping it throw her a questioning look, which is met with a slow shrug. "It helps."

"Why do you always carry chocolate?" I ask, breaking the bar in half and handing some to Nancy, after all it if my fault she feels so malnourished.

Hermione's eyes are intently on my fingers, waiting to see what I'll do, likely wont be satisfied until she has seen me consume at least one mouthful. "It's just a trick one of my old professors taught me."

Breaking off a small peace and pushing it between my teeth I turn my gaze over to the other Slytherin girl. Lifting an eyebrow in challenge. "Moody." She answers almost instantly.

"Lupin." I counter, after having pushed the contents of my mouth between my teeth and slowly we both turn towards Hermione who is already rolling her eyes at our competitiveness.

Her hands land on her hips almost of their own violation. "How much did you bet this time?"

"Three sickles." Nancy offers instantly and I nod in consent. It's not that we can read each other's minds exactly, we just have a firm grasp of each other's perspective. How much weight any particular wager should carry, it's not often that we differ but it does give an illusion of mystery and intrigue so it's a trick we have taken to using over the past weeks.

"All I said was..." she stops, looking between the two of us and apparently giving up at the sight of us eagerly awaiting the verdict. "I give up. You two are just..." She pauses again, either not comfortable with the phrase she had chosen or simply just not thought that far ahead, instead the throws her hands up into the air with a non-committal noise in the back of her throat. "I'm going to find Harry and Ron." Just like that she is striding away, her shoes echoing off the floor.

"Wait a second, who was right?" I call out behind her but only manage to address the door as it swings closed.

"It was Moody." Nancy says in a very matter of fact way, taking a bite out of her sugary treat and making to follow Hermione from the room.

With a huff I also dig in to the foodstuff, the warmth already beginning to seep back into my skin right to the tips of my fingers and I feel almost well enough to partake in this particular, useless argument. "No it wasn't."

"If you'd have been right she's have said so." Is her logic and I laugh out loud at the statement. "All right fine, if I'd have been wrong she'd want to rub my nose in it."

Thoughtfully I chew, letting the chocolate melt in my mouth and cover my tongue. She does have a point but, "Not this time."

In her excitement, her voice raises a few decibels and she practically bounces along as she walks. "Let it go, I've got this one."

"No way am I paying you without confirmation." I respond, reaching out for the banister to descend down to the ground floor.

The discussion, while pointless does prove a decent distraction all the way down to my tiny chamber and by the time we have reached the door we still don't reach any sort of peaceful resolution, so without words, agree to wait until an opportunity arises to pry this piece of knowledge from my partner. Until then the wager stands.

I leave Nancy's company with the firm belief that at least this time she is wrong, I could be too but that really isn't my main concern. That is my final thought, as all the days of relentless planning and preparations take their toll. I don't notice the paper thin mattress, or the stale smell upon the bedspread, not even the shortness of the bed that forces me to curl up along my side because the movement my head hits the pillow I am already deep in the field of dreams.

~X~

The scrape of the lock turning in its barrel is the next noise to great me in the waking world, pulling me kicking and screaming from the deep, restful sleep I had fallen into. With narrowed eyes I throw a scowl at the offending fixture before having to bend myself over backwards to turn over onto my other side, just hoping and praying that the rather irritating noise might just wear itself out if I ignore it for long enough. When the door opens it reminds me why it is that I do not rely on hoping and praying very often.

"Get up." Nancy's breathless voice assaults me a scant moment before what I suspect to be a pair of trousers are thrown over my prone form. "Come on."

"Go. Away." I hear myself say, slowly and riddled with sleep.

"Yeah, can just see the look on your face in the morning if I did that." She says in a sarcastic tone then pauses, waiting for me to move. Something she soon realises I have no intention of doing, so she reaches out and roughly shakes my shoulder. "Its time to get up now."

Honestly, I don't think I've ever heard anything more ludicrous, the sun is still hiding behind the horizon so at the time of year it's cannot possibly be any later than four in the morning. Now I may be an early riser lately but even so, this time of day is not when I should be being dragged from my bed. No matter how uncomfortable it may be.

It's only when I draw breath to tell her this, that I smell it. Cold and metallic in the air but undeniable. Blood. The scent has me twisting my body so my shoulders rest flat on the lumpy mattress and I have to hold a hand up to shield my eyes from the bright Lumos spell being held at the tip of Nancy's wand. "What happened to your nose?"

"Ginny elbowed me." She responds before she has fully thought about it, also throwing a shirt at me so it drapes haphazardly across my face. "Get up." With a swift turn she has left the room, left me to my privacy, so I might change in peace. While musings over why Ginny would want to break Nancy's nose, considering her affliction to the sight of blood, pulling me further and further away from my dreams.

The Slytherin's urgent voice and her vague words are enough for me to get a move on and when I exit the room I am still fastening the buttons to my shirt over my chest. "Clearly I'm missing something here." I say, more as a way to gather Nancy's attention as she has taken to hastily pacing along the corridor.

"That's an understatement." She responds running her fingers through her hair and giving out a strong aura of discomfort, not something I often see shrouding the woman before me. "They escaped."

"They?" I query, with half a mind to turn around and head back to bed. A flustered Nancy can only be amusing for so long and she hasn't exactly given me any reason to become interested in the cause for her irritation.

"Yes they." She stops her maddening stride to gesture around wildly with her hands. "The golden bleeding trio."

Now she has my attention. "What?" I can feel my voice drop in pitch to such an extent that the normally unflappable girl in front of me all but loses herself from under its weight.

Her hands are the first to break, fidgeting in front of her in such a distracted fashion that I might be inclined to believe she hadn't even noticed it. "Yeah the lot of them and a couple of others."

"Where did they go?" My patience is already wearing thin.

Her shrug is quick, clean and most importantly honest and her hand goes through her hair another time. She's only able to meet my eyes for the shortest of moments before she's turning away and nervously pacing the hall once more. "I-I-I don't know. They just..." Her fingertips touch her forehead with such vigour it crinkles the skin. "I don't know." She repeats.

It's at this moment that I realise how sacred of me she is. What I'll do or say upon learning these things and she has every right to be. It has been noted many, many times over the coarse of my education that I can appear imperturbable. This is not strictly true, although it can appear that way a lot of the time. The truth of the matter is that there very few topics that can raise my ire because I just simply do not care enough to become as agitated over certain matters, things that often deeply effect others, to me it all just seems so trivial.

However anyone who has seen it in action can tell you that my the fuse on my temper is not only short but leads to a ferocious explosion that normally ignites instantaneously, whether or not the person or object in front of me is the direct cause for my anger or not. Nancy is one of these people and the well-being of anyone I deeply care about is one of these things. So her fear is in no way misplaced but right now I need whatever knowledge she possesses.

So in the face of this I consciously take a breath and try to pull my face out of the angry, hard mask it has settled into. "Start from the beginning."

"I don't know everything." She says and I feel myself blink, very slowly and deliberately. As a substitute to reaching out and wrapping my fingers tightly around her throat, which I suddenly have a strong impulse to do. She swallows audibly at my movement before quickly continuing. "All right, all right. All I know is that I get called to Umbridge's office told to restrain Ginny and we find Potter with his head in the fireplace."

So the headmistress' office is the place to start, I turn on the ball of my foot arrogantly assuming that Nancy will be a few paces behind me. "Who was he trying to contact?"

"He wouldn't say." She replies, jogging a couple of steps to fell in stride. "He tried to tell Snape though but he didn't look like he understood."

Snape being a master of his facial features couldn't have easily concealed that. "What was the message?" We turn a corner and a wrap my fingers around the granite bannister to propel myself up the first two steps, as it's single file and I have a strange compulsion to be ahead of the other girl.

"Padfoot is in the place where it's buried, or hidden. Or something to that effect. Mean anything to you?" Her initial fright has dissipated somewhat but there is still a weariness about her tone.

"Only that it's gibberish." I mutter. More to myself than any other prying ears but my voice raises to continue my questioning. "You said they escaped?"

"Yeah." She says and only continues when I turn my head to send her a scolding look over my shoulder. "Hermione started going on about this weapon. Something they were working on for Dumbledore. She took Umbridge away with Harry then the rest of them jumped us." We continue to clamber up the small winding staircase, the only sounds are our footfalls and Nancy's breath steadily becoming more laboured with the exertion. When the ground beneath our feet flattens out she draws level with me one more, sending my contemplative look a sidewise glance before commenting. "There isn't any weapon, is there?"

I draw to a stop. We're still relatively far away from Umbridge's office and until I actually get there I have no idea if it will be any help and I might just be able to work this out. "No." I reply after a long sigh. "She was looking for help."

"Figured as much." With a decisive nod she shuffles her feet. "Where would she go?"

That is the question. I raise my hand and press the heel of my palm against my temple, blocking out the world around me so I can run through a list of options. Any member of the faculty is out, considering Hagrid has been run off the grounds and McGonagall is currently in St. Mungo's because of it. Harry might risk a less trusted member of staff but not Hermione. "Who exactly was in the room?"

"Oh, come on. Like I know their names." She takes in my hard stare, looking at her from under my low eyebrows. She relents with a tilt of her head, reaching up to hook a hand around the back of her neck. "Well, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny." She begins by telling me what I already know and that impulse to throttle her is back again. "Then, oh I don't fucking know. The weird girl in Ravenclaw. You know the one that's spaced out all the time."

"Luna." I correct. Striking her off my mental list.

"Probably. And the big kid that trails around after them all the time."

"Neville." I say around a deep sigh, he was my next guess. Slowly I run my hands over my face. "That's everyone accounted for, she doesn't have anywhere else to go to."

'You would." Ammy makes her presence known behind my eyes and my head tilts in curiosity. 'You have allies that she might try to contact.'

"Yeah." I scoff at her, uncaring of the eyes that are on me. "An outcast werewolf goes around making all sorts of..." I pause as exactly what Ammy is talking about dawns on me the word 'contacts' dying before it manages to pass from between my lips. "Oh, she wouldn't."

"What?" Nancy asks in an anxious voice.

At the same instant Ammy is also sharing her opinion. 'Are you certain?'

"Oh no, she would." My correction hits the open air just moments after I let the possibility filter through my mind. "How long ago did they leave?"

Nancy's breath catches in the back of her throat and she glances down at her watch, staring unblinking and the dials so such a stretch of time my skin begins to itch. "About twenty minuets."

"My, you're so precise today." She rolls her eyes at my sarcastic comment but I ignore it in favour of grinding my teeth. "You have to help me." At her nod I reach out, clamping down on her shoulder, she winces slightly. Not in pain just in fright, considering that my hand is placed so close to the column of her neck that my thumb grazes her windpipe might have something to do with her fear but I have to have her attention. "You go to the kitchens. You find Dobby and you ask him if he knows anything. Say it back to me."

"Go to the kitchens, find Dobby. Got it."

"Good." I pat her once on the cheek in a very condescending form of approval but the impulse just jumped along my arm before I could stop it. Before I can give myself time to analyse it, my weight shits on the ball of my foot and I am forcing my legs into a jog in the opposite direction.

"Where are you going?" Nancy shouts along the corridor towards my retreating back.

"To the forest!" I yell back, turning a corner and taking a more direct route back down towards the Entrance Hall. Praying to every god that I can think of that she truly hasn't gone to the Centaurs for aid.


	49. Chapter 49: Between the Trees

Chapter 49

I've never been what you might call a squeamish person. Generally I don't experience adverse reactions to various bodily fluids or gruesome scenes but right now, with the ground sodden with cooling blood, sticking thickly to my fingers as I rub them over my thumb. I don't mind admitting that it worries me.

From my crouched pose close to the ground I lift my head to scan the surrounding trees. Somewhere out there I can hear the tail end of a stampede, the terrifying imitation of thunder is already beginning to dim in the distance as participants begin to grow tiered and venture away. I had thought of following the sound right up until the moment the coppery tang of blood filled my nostrils.

It was infinitely more important to follow my nose, over going after the only creatures in this forest that, I feel certain would honestly answer any questions I have to ask them. Even if a little indirectly. I'll wonder later if the compulsion to find the source of the scent was a product of the rational part of my human mind or the primal instinct of the furry beast that resides inside of me. Then after I've figured that out, I'll make a decision on exactly how I feel about either outcome.

Right now my main concern is exactly who this blood belongs too because there is a lot of it. So much so, that I have to shuffle backwards to prevent the toe of my shoes from sinking into the soggy earth beneath them.

I bring my sticky fingers close to my nose and inhale deeply but the action doesn't give me any further incite. It's just blood, viscous and red but the identity of its owner, even the species of origin is a complete mystery to me. Had it been sweat, it wouldn't have posed a problem but blood, blood is always red and coppery. What's the point in having these advances senses, which provoke a near constant pounding behind my eyes, if I can't detect specifics?

With a frustrated grunt I flick my hand outwards, trying to dislodge the droplets of red from my fingertips but only really manage to smear it deep into the groves along my palm.

A second look over the sodden ground, with a slightly more patient eye reveals a selections of footprints, to numerous and haphazard for me to be able to distinguish any sort of direction or number of feet that made them. The fact that I am a complete novice at this doesn't help but even to my unpractised eye I can make out circular hove prints, pressed deeply into the soil.

Possible centaur prints and mass amounts of blood, doesn't matter how I look at this scene, nothing bodes well.

'She is perfectly safe.' Ammy's voice rings in my head and for once I welcome its presence. If only because she's telling me exactly what it is I want to hear.

Careful to keep the blood coating my palm away from my face I run the back of my hand across my lips, a completely nervous movement because I can't just accept the words of comfort and move on. I just have to know; "What makes you so sure?"

I feel her hesitate and the sensation is almost alien beneath my skin. 'Blind optimism.' She replies and she must be able to perceive the dread beginning to seep deep into my bones because she is quick to continue. 'And with so much blood you would expect to find a body.'

"That's not exactly a comfort Ammy." I admonish, rising to my full height by keeping my eyes downcast, scanning the earth for any signs I might have missed or misinterpreted. Nothing is leaping to my attention but still I have to keep looking. I have to be sure, either way. Indecision plays at me, nagging and mocking all at the same time. What I need is a witness but do I really want to take myself into the depths of the forest when the inhabitancies are already so excitable? I suppose want isn't exactly a factor.

Need is what drives me into the foliage and as I duck under a low hanging branch, Ammy's quiet query of; 'Are you sure this is wise?' doesn't even break my step.

"No." I answer, my eyes following the perception of my ears and making me turn my head sharply to the side upon hearing the chirp of a raven. Nervous and jumpy isn't exactly the best stance I could have taken, heading into the centaurs' habitat but I haven't exactly given myself a choice.

Every noise has me turning, or sniffing or tensing ready for attack. The fact that I am unarmed is one I am unable to forget. It's more than slightly oppressing and it forces me to be much more aware of my surroundings. I need opportunity and space to react to anything. It's not as if I can force a much taller and stronger beast to look directly into my eyes and see the sun deity quietly sitting behind them. This thought, so bright and alive that it could almost be described as a compulsion. It takes up every ounce of my attention so I don't see the tripwire. I feel it as it breaks against my calf. It provokes me to do several things in quick succession, all of them stupid.

First of all I stop. Stock still, every muscle, every bone and every thought. The one thing I can be certain about is that this trap is specifically designed to attack this point, right where I stand completely motionless. Secondly I look down. Away from my surroundings, away from whatever must surly be thundering, silently through the darkness to ensnare me and I look down, to the spent, useless length of fragile wire that I have fractured. No fight or flight response engaged just wonder, using up those precious seconds where I should be acting.

It's Ammy that saves me, as strange as that sounds. Her voice is like a loud bark inside my head, threatening to blow my eardrums outwards. One simple, overwhelming command of; 'DOWN!' as if this isn't enough I feel a pressure behind my left knee and it crumples, right from under me. My face may smash against the dry, hard ground and I may have lost every breath of air from my lungs but I completely avoid the log sailing through the air above me. It swoops harmlessly several feet above my prone body; loaded down with so many spears pushed deep into the bark and sharpened along the shafts that it collides with a nearby tree, imbedding itself there with its own weight.

Still stunned by the dramatic turn of events I twist on the ground until I am resting on my backside, reaching out to swipe at the dirt and debris that have collected on my face from the stumble, doubtlessly smearing rapidly drying blood all along my cheek in the process. "How did…" The question dies on my lips and I'm not even certain what it was I meant to ask. My hands are shaking, probably with terror but I can't feel it, my muscles reacting to the fright even while my mind is still catching up to the events. "You floored me." I finally say after inhaling enough to once more be able to breathe.

'Yes.' She is very slow to admit, she even waits the full beat of my heart to give me time to react but I all really do is push my fingers and thumb against my eyelids. 'You had not seen it.'

"No." Is my very clipped response. The entity inside of me clearly has much more influence over my physical presence than I had realised before and I know that should make me angry. In honesty I am angry, furious in fact. Not just because she has taken certain aspects of my fate out of my hands, also because those actions have saved my life and now I have to be grateful for it. "Thank you."

'You have my word, I will try not to do that too often.' She's beginning to learn me, inside and out. Something that should by all rights be just a little bit scary to me but this is potentially the second time she has saved my skin, so I feel safe enough not to fret over it just now. Besides she tries to gloss over it before I can really begin to over think her intervention, her voice dropping from a guarded tone to one that is light and almost mocking. 'But you will land yourself in these situations.'

With a grunt I press against the dry earth, pushing myself into a crouch and then upright. Rising very quickly to the obvious bait. "To think, this conversation started out so well." Upon shaking off the remanence of my fright I shake my head to clear it, my ears at once detecting a distance thud carried with the breeze. Even though I cannot quite distinguish what it is I am able to hear, I can make an educated guess. "What's that?" I ask, seemingly to the open air, perhaps even to myself but privately, all I am hoping for is for the disembodied voice floating around in my skull to contradict my conclusions.

She pauses, straining her senses against my ears before committing to any sort of response. 'Almost sounds like a gallop.'

"You know…" Subconsciously I take a step back, I know the vague direction of the noise but a centaur at full gallop I cannot hope to outrun. The uneven terrain and my much tighter turning circle are my only advantages without access to a wand. So I force myself to stand and wait. "I was afraid you were going to say that."

Twigs snap, unseen somewhere in the gloom, gathering momentum and rapidly gaining ground to my position. It all happens instantly. The foliage parting and a rampaging centaur is within my sites, unfortunately that also means that I am within his. The creature before me is both striking and terrifying. His horse half standing at least fourteen hands, the short fur along his lower half black as the moonless sky. His upper half is no less foreboding, deep tan in colour with thick black hair coating his chest, head and chin.

The uneven terrain and close confines afforded by the trees don't even appear to slow the man down as his long, powerful legs give him much more drive than mine and as he breaks the tree line his front legs are folded beneath his body in a long leap. His bow held aloft like a club already beginning to swing down towards me.

His front hooves haven't even touched the floor and I'm running at as much of an angle as I dare, to try and get just a little lead on the much faster animal. My escape is so fine that I hear the displacing air, over the sound of hooves just seconds before both strike the ground, kicking up leaves and dirt with the force of the blow.

I duck under branches, hop from one side of trees to another, bouncing from left to right in an anxious attempt to outmanoeuvre the creature. Nothing works, nothing is enough and he just keeps gaining on me. All the while his thunderous stride just a quarter step behind me, almost clipping my heels.

My legs already burn with the strain of the mad dash to outrun the animal and I both feel and hear his hooves smashing against the ground behind me, getting so close so quickly that I can feel his breath against my neck. In desperation I put the flat of my hand to the top of a fallen tree and use the limb as a pivot point to hop over it, the bark scrapes against my palm and I use the arch of my jump to swivel into another direction

The trees ahead of me open up into a clearing, the light of the moon filtering through the canopy of the trees and I am fast running out of places to duck and weave. Behind me he whinnies and shorts but the jump he clears easily; barely even stopping to look at the obstacle, just leaping and trampling towards me. The smell of horseflesh filling my nostrils and the heavy snorts of frustration that sends stale warm air down my spine.

Against my better judgement I chance a glance over my shoulder towards the sound of thundering hooves. Just in time to see the speeding stallion rearing back his makeshift club once more, held high over his opposite shoulder in preparation for a sweeping blow to cut down and across his body.

In a move that is driven by pure instinct I lean backwards and lock my knees pulling my body to a sliding stop, the movement too quick too keep my balance and I tumble onto my side, a blur of deep black fur invading my vision for only a moment.

The Centaur still brings down his bow to the ground, striking a tree and screaming out into the night. With two legs stretched out in front of him he also slides to a stop, quickly rearing up onto his hind legs and turning on the spot, raising so high that the leaves hanging low on the braches brush his head and shoulders. In the same action pulling an arrow from his quiver on his back, notching it and by the time his front hooves land on the ground facing me the bow string has been pulled taught then released, sending the sharp projectile hurtling towards me.

I react quickly to the drastic change of events but not quite quickly enough, my feet slip and skate against the unforgiving ground, sliding against the dry, brown leaves and it takes me two attempts to gather myself up and clamber onto my knees. The arrow sides past me, landing against the dirt and quivering with the force of impact. It's only when I both see and smell my blood coating the weapon that I realise the sharp head has caught my upper arm and split the skin.

The ground is hard against my hands and I feel more than a few stones press into my flesh; still I push myself up and onto my feet. Finding momentary sanctuary by squeezing between two trees, the bark scraping, painfully against my injured arm and I can hear it tearing my clothing.

The large brute behind me is forced to meander around the two oak trees I have escaped through and as such I am able to gather more ground on him, hopefully giving myself enough time to be able to think of a viable method of escape.

At the same moment I spy a low hanging branch that I should be able to clamber up to, I hear a thundering cry from behind me. Some sound that cannot be made by man nor beast, a deafening howl somewhere between a battle cry of a man and the furious whiney of a war horse. It echoes around the trees far off into the distance, moving the leaves with the shear force of the noise and making my heart pound to such an extent that I can feel the rapid beat of it inside of my ears.

The loud shout draws the attention of two more centaurs almost instantly, one a chestnut brown with thin brunette hair atop his head and covering his chin in thin stubble. The other a short white, specked pony in comparison to his companions, his thick mullet of blond hair shaking two and fro as his spins a rope, looped at the end over his head, a deep frown of concentration marrying his brow. Both of them crossing each other right in my path and once more forcing me to try and change direction.

Again I set myself at right angles to the path I had been taking. The move itself I manage to pull off without stumbling too much but it's all in vein. From the corner of my eye I see the blond pony release his looped rope and there is nothing I can do to stop its flight. Even before I feel it swipe at my forehead and settle just above my elbows I already know I'm done for. It doesn't stop me trying to run and the rope tightens around my torso, once more forcing breath from my lungs. My legs keep on running, even though there is little chance that I will be able to break the grip of such a majestic animal, one clearly well practiced with this piece of rudimentary equipment. As such, I over reach with my footing; sliding and land flat on my back with a dull thud. Without the full use of either of my arms I am completely helpless. It's not exactly a position I relish being in and it's not over yet.

My captor dashes off and the sound of hooves is almost familiar now, what frightens me more is that I can hear the individual strands of twine rubbing together as it tightens and I realise what is happening less than a heartbeat before it pulls taught and I am dragged along the floor at a rate which must be twice the speed of my own sprint.

My surrounding wiz by in a blur of green and brown, too fast for me to see or navigate in any way, with the tops of my arms pinned tightly to the side of my body I don't have any way to steady the bumpy journey. Nor do I have any method to stop myself careering into the side of a tree and bouncing off it into another. Time and time again. I don't have either the coordination or the energy left to be able track the injuries, only that they are numerous and possibly cover me from head to toe.

I have no idea how long it is we travel like this, dragged behind a speeding centaur, what I do know is that it is long enough for me to realise that by digging my heels into the ground I am able to at least keep my face out of the dirt. Although by that point having it scraped against the unforgiving ground so often and at such a speed it has probably worn away my skin, right down to the bone anyway.

I do notice when the centaurs pace begins to slow because I find that I have much more control over which direction my body is pulled in, able to direct myself around a few trees but not quick enough to stop myself from sliding over a sharp rock that slices deep into the skin all along my back. I feel myself cry out against the stinging pain but cannot hear it, the shout of anguish lost to the wind and I girt my teeth. The gash is pulled further open when the rope is swung around and I cannot stop myself from rolling over several times from side to front and back again, before teetering to a merciful stop. My face pressed tightly against the leaves and the booming sound of dozens of cheers invading my pounding ears.

Every muscle burns, or aches, or screams at me as I push against them to try and wriggle out of the confines of the rope around me. Able to dislodge it enough to press my hands against the ground and lift my torso so only my forehead rests heavily on the ground.

'Up.' Ammy says. Her voice is so different, that I would almost have thought I could have imagined it. Usually even when irritated it is filled with so much understanding that she manages to fill me with that blinding sunlight. It has always been there but until this moment I had never noticed it. Not until her voice is cold and hard, void of anything but burning rage. 'I said. Up.' She repeats in a deathly command, when I fail to respond.

My hands flatten against the floor but my muscles are still ablaze and my arms collapse from under me. I grit my teeth against the throbbing pain across my chest and a spit out from behind them; "I'm trying."

Above me the centaurs don't take note of the small confrontation happening within my skin, the chorus of their cheers drowns it out. Most of them stamping the ground to add to the ominous sound but one of them is too jittery to stand still. I can hear his stride against the dry earth, a brisk walk that begs to be allowed into a frantic trot, passing two and fro in front of his brethren. "Yet more of these vile humans encroaching on our lands, you see them here before you!" This provokes more stomping, more pounding at the ground until it almost sounds hollow under my ears. "Nothing more than pawns to them, beasts to be feared and destroyed! I say we bare this, no more!" his voice raises with every passing syllable, riling up his compatriots who in turn rise into another bout of loud cheers.

'Get up, or I will do it for you.' Ammy's voice is still cold, heartless and bare. I fear it almost as much as the army of beasts above me and I try, really I do to push my body upright but it isn't ready. Gone through too much, too soon and it will not respond how I ask it to. Either way I take too long for Ammy's liking. 'Fair warning was given Human.'

Whenever it is that happens to me, it's instantaneous. The pain is still coating my body, I am still in agony from the tip of my crown to the ends of my toes but I don't have control of my muscles anymore. My limbs do not give out and they press against the ground and push me onto my knees. They don't flinch against the torturous suffering I feel in my ankle. They shouldn't but both of my legs take my weight and I can hear my screams bouncing around inside of my skull, echoing and growing louder and loader against the burning pain but not a single sound is uttered from between my lips. As if Ammy doesn't feel a thing and right now, she is in complete control.

She stands, motionless for a moment. Watching the prancing centaur, which is the same black animal that first chased me through the forest, pass from one side to another. All those surrounding him pause, some of them still with fists in the air, stopped mid-motion and unable to continue. Using my eyes she scans the crowd and I cannot feel a drop of fear. Only her anger. She meets the eyes of one I recognise to be Tamlen's Father. A brief look passes across his face as he remembers my face and instantly he is bowing. So low to the floor that his long hair reaches down around his neck to touch the earth.

This action, along with the silence all around him pulls the ringleader up short. He still stomps at the ground but this in annoyance that he isn't being listened to. "What are you doing, Ashreal?"

Now I have a name to go along with, what I still regard to be a friendly face but he doesn't answer. Ammy strains at my vocal cords and does it for him. "He looks with his heart, not with his eyes."

The dark creature turns on Ammy, malice and hate already etched into his face, right up until the moment he looks into my eyes and sees her staring back at him. His features first drop into shock then completely mortification. One long leg curls under him while the other outstretches into a low bow until his nose is but and inch from the floor. "I would pray forgiveness, Great Mother." Around him, one by one every centaur takes to a knee in reverence and repentance.

"You would be lucky to get it in a single lifetime." Ammy responds instantly. She holds my hands behind my back, grasping one of my wrists in the other palm. Somehow making my body appear regal and commanding with the simplest of movements, even though she is not used to it. "From what I have seen this night, I would be loath to offer it though all eternity."

The dark stallion takes deep breath and I can hear it rattle against his ribcage. "Great Mother…"

Whatever excuse or reasoning he was about to say is immediately cut off by my voice in a low demand of; "Silence." And he listens. This creature, this majestic being that stands at least twice my height and thrice my weight, clamps his mouth closed to listen. "You are my sons. All of you. I give you lands, I give you forests and I have defended your existence for a thousand lifetimes, in a thousand ways. Yet this. This violence, this unprovoked attack, these barbaric acts. This is how you repay me!" For her final sentence she raises my voice to a level that I have never heard before and the whole forest goes deathly silent in its wake, holding a collective breath, waiting for the purge of this goddess's fiery rage.

"We didn't know." These are the first words the break the eerie silence.

Ammy takes two very quick steps forward, her pace confidant and commanding, even though my ankle is screaming against the pressure being put onto it. She bends, but doesn't stoop, still maintaining a higher posture over the bowing creatures. "All that draw breath owe credence to Apollo. All of them deserve to do so." She spits to his lowered back. "Time progresses yet you do not. Evolution cannot be procured without progressive variants. Yet you treat all that is different, all that is new with suspicion and fear. Deeming it beneath you, beneath your respect and your mercy. Then dare to think yourself civilised."

This sentence proves to be too much for the proud male centaur, so much so that he forgets himself; drawing himself to his full height with wide eyes and his hind legs stomping the ground in indignation. "Music, culture and foresight make it so." His response may be practiced but doesn't make him believe it any less.

"Every savage can dance." Ammy spits from behind a sneer. She may now have to tilt my head skywards to be able to chastise the man but in no way does this spoil its effectiveness. She takes a moment, just to stand and watch the reaction to her words, watching the man's chest and gaze fall in shame. "You speak of foresight, I gave you this gift, to map the future in the stars. Yet every mortal, whether prophet or warrior, all make the same mistakes, time and time again." She steps forward once more, pressing my body deep into the animals personal space, he dare not take a step back but he is forced to coil his upper body away from the intruding goddess. "We do not learn from the future, we learn from the mistakes of our fathers and those that came before." The rage that was washing through my vein just moments ago begins to ebb, as all rage must but what is left in place of it is a great sorrow, the likes of which I didn't think any god or goddess capable of. "Do you understand what I have told you this night?"

The centaur takes a moment to answer; waiting to be absolutely certain that he is being given permission to speak and when he does his voice is low and chastised. "Yes Great Mother."

"Then show me." She answers, from behind tensed teeth. "Get out of my sight." She continues in a dismissive tone turning away from the man. "Ashreal." She then continues, both her tone and her demeanour much calmer, all but ignoring the rest of the tribe rising to their feet and walking quietly out between the trees. "Rise. There is another matter I must discuss."

Tamlen's father does as requested, rising to his full height but still refuses to look into my eyes. Choosing a leaf on the ground and deeming it the most interesting sight in the world.

Ammy reaches out, placing her hand over the man's bicep, he doesn't return her mournful gaze but does nod in reverence at the touch. "Do not be afraid." She says quietly, then turns my sights out into the gloom of the forest her next words for me. "The rest is up to you."

Again, as if she snapped her fingers and her will is made so. She withdraws herself from control over everything, including my balance and the nullifying effect on the pain running rampant through my body. I don't have time to catch myself, or prepare myself. I cry out in agony, the pounding in my ankle too much and the limb crumples from underneath me. The only thing that stops me tumbling to the ground once more is the strong pair of arms that circle my torso and catch me under my arms.

For a long moment I am forced to stand on a single shaking leg and accept the help of this centaur, my arms shaking and my hands balled into fists against his back. All this effort just to keep my teeth closed and any shout of pain hidden behind them. "I had not realised your injuries were so extensive."

"Neither had she." I say, trying to spin a joke and failing miserably.

Asreal shifts me so I may rest upon one of his long, strong arms and reaches down to his flank into a pouch strung across his chest, pulling out of it a short strip of brown wood, which he promptly pushes into my grasp. At my questioning look he explains. "Bark of the willow tree. You must chew it and it will ease the pain." I shoot him a sceptical look that he does naught but titter at. Still I press the bark between my teeth and try not to screw up my face with disgust, more to stop myself pulling at the fresh wounds than to try and save face against the woody taste in my mouth. "There was another matter?"

I hum in the back of my throat, the bark just becoming pliable between my teeth. "There were others, they came to the forest before me."

"The two foals?" He asks and at my nod he continues. "They were well when they left us. Unharmed. Others say they took to the skies, upon the winged black steeds."

The shock of this new very nearly makes me swallow the splinter in my mouth, which is surprisingly helping with to such an extent that I am able to rest a portion of my weight down onto my ankle. "Thestrals? They got on Thestrals? Where did they go?"

He shakes his head slowly, going back over his memories to see if anything might help. "Far to the south. Why are these children so important?"

"One of them is my mate." I say, choosing the word that Ammy used so long ago.

It works; I watch his face flatten out as the gravity of the situation dawns on him. "Then I apologise that I cannot be more help."

I push a curled fist to my forehead, in part to stem my rising panic and also to try and think of any reason that any of them would chose to leave the grounds. "You have been helpful. Don't fret, I'll think of something."

I try to walk away from his grasp, the swelling and the pain in my body not eradicated but at least diminished enough for me to be able to stand on my own two feet. The only thing that stops me, from walking away and trying to formulate another plan of action is the tightening of grip around my lower arm. Ashreal for just a moment stands silent; trying to judge how I will react then slowly his tongue reaches out to motion his lips. "There is one more matter that we should address."

When I lift my head in a sign for him to continue he sweeps his arm out to guide my gaze. What my eyes land upon has my body deflate and I would almost prefer being chased through the trees by the terrifying centaurs.

Curled up between two roots of a tree, her hands tightly bound in front of her body, her eyes as wide as her mouth around the rudimentary gag is Professor Dolorous Umbridge.


	50. Chapter 50: Burning Contempt

Chapter 50

"Stop struggling." My voice is short, irritated and close to the shell of Umbridge's ear. Sharp eyes; thankfully spy the grounds beyond the treelike bathed in pale moonlight. Her endless attempts to free herself pulling at the cut along my spine and over my upper arm. The willow bark may be working miracles on the actual pain for these injuries but I can still feel my blood trickling down my skin.

I duck down under a low hanging branch and the change in angle alters my balance somewhat, which under normal circumstances wouldn't be considered an issue but my captive chooses this moment to quickly bring down the flat of her foot against the side of my ankle. The joint itself, already being under more pressure than it is used to, feels like it explodes beneath my skin and when I try to compensate with my other foot it gets caught under a protruding root and I fall face first to the floor. Losing my grip on the other woman's clothing and flesh in favour of throwing my hands out in front of me.

Umbridge is already making a break for it and I don't even allow time to collect myself before both feet are slipping from under me in pursuit.

At least in this instance my gate is much longer and my movement much swifter, so I able catch up a mid point between the tree line and the castle walls but being unwilling to give any sort of opening for any further wounds I crash my chest against her back and send us both to the floor. Careful to keep my body covering hers I push myself onto my knees and use a fierce grip against her robes to turn the woman onto her back. So she can see by the murderous look on my face exactly how little I appreciated her escape attempt.

"This will go so much smoother for the both of us, if you just do exactly what I say." It's a feeble attempt at best, to request compliance but at least if and when I do resort to some sort of violence, I can truthfully say I tried.

All I really manage to do is anger her. Causing her to redouble her efforts to such an extent that I have to release her robes and latch onto her bound hands to remove any opportunity to strike me. My position over her gives me superior leverage, which I use to the fullest extent. Pressing down on her bound wrists until they push tightly against her chest. In protest all she is able to do is give a long muffled scream from behind the knotted material pushed between her teeth and kick out her legs. Somehow managing to plant her feet against the floor and very nearly bucks me off her.

One way or another I land with my body across the older woman, releasing her with both hands so they can reach out and my fingers can thread through the blades of cool, dry grass. With her hands now free from my grasp she presses them into my side with such force that I would swear I felt my ribs bend. She manages to raise me off enough to turn onto her front but not for long enough to be free of me.

She has just enough time to reach up to her gag, loop her fingers around the tie and tug it down over her chin. Before I flatten my hand against her shoulder blade and use all of my body weight to push her flat to the floor but now her tongue is free. She begins to scream long and loud, it's almost an incoherent shriek but on her third attempt, after she has nearly ran out of breath, I can clearly hear the word 'help!' mixed with the high pitched noise.

"Listen!" I yell and hear the single word echo cleanly in the open grounds. It doesn't make her stop, still that constant ear piercing squeal rolls along the darkened field. She's still rolling two and fro, trying to dislodge me, or throw me off her but I've already gathered my bearings. I've pushed myself high onto my knees and while one hand presses against her spine to keep her against the short grass the other is furiously searching for some kind of hold on her robes so I can turn her over and stop that blasted noise before me ears begin to bleed. As soon as my head begins to throb and I can feel the twitches covering my back to single an oncoming seizure I throw my other hand down to her back and push against the back of her lungs until she doesn't have enough breath left to scream. We're both left panting into the night. "Listen." I repeat in a much lower voice, unwilling to aggravate my sensitive ears further.

The side of Umbridge's face is presses tightly against the ground and she has to swivel her eyes to the very corner to be able to look up at me. "I don't hear anything." She says after a long moment in a shaky laboured voice.

"Neither do I." Is my response and I truly wish she know how significant that is. "You can scream, you can yell and you can plead but no one is coming for you." I pause to catch my breath, watching as her eyes dart in every direction that they are able. Just to try and prove me wrong. "You can't thumb your nose at the world, then expect it to come running whenever you need it. So you'd better get used to the fact, that it's just you and me this time."

Her whole body jerks in either a flinch or an escape attempt. Her head shoots up, catching me in a hard knock and immediately I can taste blood filling my mouth. In response I dig into both of her upper arms, until she voices her pain in a shout, which she cuts off half way through by clamping her teeth tightly closed. "Get off me! You're wrong!" She screams and throws her body into a fit of random movement, which is so unpredictable that I have to drop my torso down onto her back. She concedes defeat in her movement but nothing will stop that tongue, thrashing about and slicing up everyone like a well-honed blade. "Wrong in so many ways. Not just a filthy half breed and a perverse queer but a lunatic as well."

"Oh I see." I say around a laugh, there isn't a lot she can say about me that I haven't already heard and at this point, it only strikes me as mildly amusing. "So all of this hostility isn't just because I'm a werewolf. You don't like that I lie with another witch either." As I push myself up onto my arms I am careful not to use the ground as leverage but instead bring my hands down on her shoulder blades with all the might this particular angle will allow. Only to press my body weight down onto her once more. "Never stood a chance."

"Not just any witch. But a mudblooded one at that." She groans out into the night as my hand descends onto the back of her neck. Pushing down onto it until her windpipe rests on the ground and restricts her breathing.

I lower myself down. Bearing my teeth in blind fury before spitting down her ear; "You can say anything you want about me but if you bring Hermione into this I will start hurting you." For a few heartbeats I allow myself to listen to her grunting breaths as she tries to pull air into her lungs. "Do you understand?" When she frantically nods to affirm her comprehension, I am able to calm myself enough to release some of the pressure against her neck. "And for the record, I'm not crazy." In a quick move I have one set of fingers under her arm and the other bunched in her robes. Using these two anchor points I am able to pull and push at her until she lands with a thud on her back, only to have her wide terrified eyes looking up at me. "I've been tested." My hands ball into fists around the lapels of her robes and I am already yanking her up when I issue the command of, "Now get up."

The moment I have her on her feet I use both hands to roughly turn her on the spot then push her out two steps in front of me, so she can't try and stop on my weak ankle a second time. She turns her head to check how far away I am but doesn't break out into a run. Only turns her head back towards her feet. "If not insane. What are you?"

My eyes remain riveted to my captive back, even as I bring the back of my hand to my lower lip. I flinch and grunt against the sting and pull my hand away bloodied. "Many things." I reply, dropping my eyes to her feet when she stumble on nothing but air. She is quick to right herself and this is enough to convince me that the move wasn't a trick. "You're going to have to be more specific."

"In the forest. With those beasts." Her voice drops into what I can only describe as a low hiss of contempt on the last word of that sentence. "You were different."

"That wasn't me." I say back almost instantly and when she stops in her tracks so do I. "You're scared of her."

In pure indignation the ministry official turns. "Don't be absurd."

I give a humourless snort of laughter and while keeping the woman in my peripheral vision make a show of looking out over the grounds. "Don't lie to me Umbridge." Only to bring up my eyes and lock our gazes together. "I can smell it." Her face drops in surprise and only because she either won't survive or remember this night do I continue. Just to keep that fearful look on her face because it makes me feel so powerful. "It's strange when you think about it. She scares you, why? Just because she chastised a few centaurs?"

'Careful.' Ammy warns and I'm not entirely sure what it is against.

I wave out my hand to the side and direct my words to Ammy. "Please. That was practically Daddy putting the children to bed." However much those words were intended for the goddess inside of me, it has the desired effect on Umbridge. Putting her into such a state of panic that is cannot help taking a corresponding step backwards when I advance. "Just words, that's all she really has, a belly full of hot air. Then of course, there's me." I take another step forward, unable to keep the cocky swagger out of my stride, but when the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts, scrabbles backwards in terror it's hard to keep it contained. "I've played one person against another until they were ready to kill each other. More times than I can count." Another step forward and even though she may not notice it. We are quickly approaching the castle walls; it will be much easier to contain her once we are inside. So the longer I can keep her terrified the better. "I have cast every nasty spell that you can ever think of, some that you can't and I have smiled through every scream. I even murdered my own uncle with my bare hands. So there is no possible way that I should be considered anything but dangerous, werewolf or not. And yet," I reach out a hand taking her gag, which had been handing uselessly from her neck, within my grip and twisting it until it tightens around her throat. "Yet you, constantly, prod at my temper. Why is that?"

Every breath she takes is laboured, reduced to desperately sucking in air through her nose and her fear is so thick I can practically taste it. Coating my tongue in such a pleasant way that I would happily drown in it. "I..." She doesn't continue and by her loud swallow and the frantic look in her eyes I'd say that she's doesn't know how too.

My grip on that scrap of cloth tightens and I pull her skywards, until she has no choice but to stare into my almost colourless menacing eyes. Separated by no more than a hands breadth. "Now, next time you see Hermione. That mudblooded witch who you think is so beneath you. You'd best get down on your knees and thank her, for every single moment, from right now until the end of your miserable existence because she is the only reason you still breath." The edges of her face are beginning to turn a bright red and I push against my anchor point until she stumbles forward a few steps with a shout of. "Now get inside!"

She sets a brisk pace that I do not comment on. Instead choosing to shake my head to try and clear the violent impulses running rampant through it. It takes a few steps for Ammy to speak but when she does her voice is back to that calming influence that I am more used to. 'For a moment there, I thought you might kill her.'

The only answer I give to this is grinding my teeth so tightly that I would almost swear I heard my jaw creak. For there was more than one moment where the temptation to squeeze the life from Umbridge, until she lay breathless and pale in my arms, was so strong that I had to physically stomp it back down into the pit of my stomach.

When we reach the door at the edge of the castle she quietly rests her side up against the wall and patiently waits for me to push open the heavy oak. After eyeing her with suspicion for a heart beat I fist my hand in her robes and push her through the doorway in front of me, with so much force that she steps clear across the hallway and hunches over to cower against the wall. Who would have ever thought that honesty does sometimes pay off in these situations?

I catch the scent of Nancy in the hallway just seconds before I find her with my sights. "What are you doing here?" I call along the corridor and from the corner of my eye, spying Umbridge twitch, in a telltale sign that she is about to start running again. All it takes is for me to abruptly thrust out my index finger towards her and practically snarl. "Don't you dare move."

"Your elf friend didn't know anything and I saw you stumbling back in." Nancy replies. Looking very calm with the turn of events, her hands pushed into the pockets of her robes and as she pulls to a stop at my side she slides her eyes up and down the High Inquisitor, not looking at all surprised to find I have her bound and cowering. "At least now I know I chose the right side." She curls her tongue behind her upper teeth as she chuckles and then turns her attention to me, only for her face to fold in a frown. "Although you do look as though you've been dragged through a hedge backwards."

"I assure you, it was more than one." I respond, at the time it felt as though I had been dragged through every square inch of the expansive forest. "So we both turned up nothing. What a productive evening we're having." I reach my fingers into my mouth and pull out the strip of wood from between my teeth, uncaring for the slightly disgusted look I receive from both of my companions when I drop it into my shirt pocket. "As much as I hate to say it. This is more important right now." I finally say lifting my hand to indicate Umbridge.

"It should worry me that, that is the least scary thing you've said this evening." Nancy comments, pulling her cheek between her teeth in thought while still continuing to speak, if a bit muffled. "My skill with memory charms is terrible, at best. What about yours?"

"Nonexistent."

"I'm assuming we can't just deal with the problem?" Nancy says, her tone of voice changing on the word 'deal' so it means a great deal more than the word should imply. To deal with Umbridge in the way that Nancy is suggesting, would be the most efficient way to take her out of the equation. However it would incite a riot in the Ministry and possibly spark off another war. So the look on my face should be enough to convey that no, even if it is tempting, we cannot deal with this problem in that particular way. "When exactly did you get a moral compass? Because it's bloody annoying." She passes between the High Inquisitor and myself, tilting her head at my captive as she goes in an indication to follow her.

Umbridge continues to stand where she had been placed, shaking so subtlety that I could almost believe it were a trick of the candle light, if I could not see terror in her eyes and smell it thick in the air. My grip is much less fierce when I wrap it around her upper arm to silently command her movement and her willingness to comply is still a surprise.

At no point in our journey do any three of us speak again. Nancy and I, on a lot of levels able to communicate without words and Umbridge ultimately unwilling to break the heavy silence, still we end up at the potion master's door. The only peaceful yet viable option left.

When my partner raises her hand to knock at the door I step up, reaching out to unlatch it and push it open. I personally have a lot riding on this conversation I must now have and standing to wait for an answer doesn't exactly show the urgency that is currently running through my veins.

My head of house is quietly sitting at his desk. His middle finger pressed across his lips, deep in thought and the only the flick of his pupils in my direction to indicate he had noticed our arrival at all. I deposit the High Inquisitor down onto a chair and using the firm line of an outstretched finger, silently command she remain there. "We have a problem."

"I see that." The man answers after a long pause, his eyes for a long moment on my captive before handing me his attention. "You'd best explain."

"Harry has left the grounds. I'm pretty certain four other students went with him."

He had been expecting me to divulge why it is that Umbridge is trembling, looking so relaxed in his seat but this small piece of information has his back straightening and he leans forward in his seat until both elbows rest against his desk. "You're sure?"

"I have it on good authority." I reply. Running a hand through my hair and slowly stepping over towards the centre of his lecture theatre. "Do you know where they went?" Quickly his eyes flick over to Umbridge and Nancy, both of who are remaining consciously quiet and trying to look uninterested in the discussion. "Don't worry about them. What do you know?"

"They probably went to the ministry. Potter seams to think his godfather may be in some trouble." Snape replies.

While his words make me cross my arms and bow my head in partial annoyance partial defeat it makes Nancy bark out with laughter. "Are you serious?" She receives a piercing look from our head of house and I all but ignore her. "Six of them go trotting off to save one kid's godfather. That's foolish."

"That's friendship." I comment, distracted by my thoughts and I have no mind to delve into this discussion with the other Slytherin again. "In your very unique opinion professor, what is the likely hood that they will all survive?"

"Left to their own devices. Not very high." He pauses only long enough to take a very deep breath, apprising me from head to toe as he does. "I've been trying to contact the headmaster for several hours now with little success. Do you have any suggestions?"

"Several. I can get a message to him." Behind me Umbridge squeaks in annoyance, before remembering herself enough to fall quiet. "In the meantime. I need someone to deal with our High Inquisitor." Snape pushes himself out of his chair, casting a glance over the indicated woman then raising an eyebrow in question to me. "She's seen something. Something I can't ever let her tell another living soul."

I see that look cross his face, that glace that terrified me not so many months ago, of a scholar puzzling out a problem. Only this time I see that it is for my benefit rather than assuming it is for my destruction. "Charms, is hardly my strangest skill set."

"You've always struck me as the creative type professor." I begin, taking a moment to moisten my lips and allow my words to be absorbed. "If she is able to reveal all of the secrets she's learned tonight, we're all doomed."

He takes a moment, pressing a knuckle against his nose in thought. It's not just my covert affairs that are at risk. "It may be necessary to view all of these memories." He says slowly.

All at once I am again the student, again the subordinate. "Then I will need to trust in your discretion, professor."

"You think you can do that?" He asks, it's not something I can answer and on some levels I don't think he expects me to. I don't have any choice; we both know that so I'll just have to trust that I am able to identify the lesser of the two evils before me. He nods once at my silent compliance. "You had best hurry."

With a new purpose my muscles jump to life. Turning to Nancy "You're with me." The other girl is startled slightly and I see her open her mouth to question me but is cut off by the solid thud of my closed knuckles slamming into Umbridge's cheek, with such force that she is thrown from her chair to the floor. Immediately the bones begin to ache in protest and I have to shake out my hand. Ignoring the disapproving look from my head of house and begin to climb the stairs to exit the room.

"Was that really worth it?" Nancy questions. Eyeing my fingers that I am very slowly flexing and relaxing, the self-inflicted pain, being much more prominent than I had anticipated.

"More than you know." My other hand closes around the cold banister and propels me up the first three stairs. "I need you to go to Umbridge's office. Find my wand, I'll meet you there."

She climbs the steps behind me, still following closely behind as she expresses her displeasure. "I'm beginning to feel just a bit like a mule."

"Best get used to it." My quick stride may have brought us back to the ground floor and a level corridor but it is taking its toll in my tender ankle, which is the only reason I haven't broken out once more into a run. "You want to come out of their world, you have to come into mine." In as friendly way as I can, I use my elbow to nudge her to the side. "Think you can handle that?"

Her face screws up into a thoughtful grimace and she lets out a very distracted: "I'll let you know."

"While you're contemplating the ramifications of that, you can go get my wand." I say to her. Rounding a corner and directing her in the opposite direction, with a short push against her shoulder. I hear her grumble and swear at my retreating back, in a small enough voice that she would assume I would be ignorant to it. Its something I don't call her on if only because I would much prefer it if she does what I ask.

By the time I reach the kitchens my ankle is beginning to protest so much that I am forced to pull the willow bark once more from my pocket and begin to chew on it. It doesn't take me very long to coax the pear out of the way of the door handle but when I actually enter the cavernous kitchen the sound of clattering pots and pans immediately assaults my ears to such and extend that I cannot help but flinch away from it.

The elves are alive with activity, even at such an early hour of the morning. Everything is being vigorously scrubbed by hand or being re organised for some reason and I find it hard to spot the one specific elf that I am looking for within the short crowd. "Dobby?" I call out into the din but I very nearly don't hear my own voice over the oppressing noises.

The tiny elf with his very large ears probably has better hearing than even me and having been in possession of it for the entirety of his life, has a much higher degree of control over it. Proved by the fact that he stands before me in an instant. Standing tall amongst his hard working peers, with his chest puffed out and his hands clasped behind his back. "Miss Jamelia Desay." He greets in a cheery way. "Has Mr. Harry Potter been found?" He speaks again before I am given enough time to even draw breath. "We are helping as best we can."

My face contorts into a deep frown, which I am powerless to suppress and shake my head at his words. The logic behind how cleaning the kitchen could help Harry, so far beyond me that I don't even question it. "In a manner of speaking. They have gone to the ministry of magic I need to get that message to Dumbledore. For that I need your help."

That last sentence makes his entire stance fall. He curls in on himself, taking the tip of one of his ears between his fingers and fiddling with it in a nervous gesture. "Headmaster Dumbledore is not at the school."

I try not to become frustrated by this. He may be doing all that is within his power to uphold his master's rule but surly he must be able to see that this is of paramount importance. "I'm acutely aware of that but this castle still views him as its master. So he must still be yours."

His eyes dart from mine down to the floor, his toe scraping away some nonexistent dirt from under it, a sure sign that whatever he intends to say is a lie. "Dobby does not know where Headmaster Dumbledore has gone. Dobby is a free elf with no master."

"Nothing more than a technicality, just because he pays you doesn't now mean he is not your master. So I know you can find him." He opens his mouth to protest, his small, bony hands curling into fists but I cut him off before he can either argue or start bringing himself harm. "Listen I'm not asking you to break your vow, I'm not even asking you to go against orders. All I need is for you to get a message to him."

"Will this save Master Harry Potters life?" He asks in a docile voice.

Given this elf's fondness for the boy I am more than confident that my answer will aid me. "Potentially."

What happens next is so far removed from anything I had been expecting that I am struck dumb for the barest instant. His fisted hands press deeply into his stomach until he is nearly doubled over with the strain and his kind features begin to twist. Pulling and pushing into such a mask of pure sorrow that it even begins to break my cold, dry heart. "Dobby mustn't." Tiny nails run down the side of his face leavening angry welts in their wake. "Dobby can't!" He's shouting now and all at once the clatter of pots and pans stops.

The tiniest trickle of blood runs down the side of his face, it's the smell of it, not the sight that pulls me out of my haze and drags me down onto one bended knee to take his flailing arms within my grip. "Why not?" I ask over his waling. All elves are much stronger than they appear but being away from the company of any for so long has made me forget that fact. I may be able to keep his hands away from his skin but I am completely unable to keep the tiny creature still in any sense of the word. "Dobby! Stop!" There is nothing but authority in my voice; it rings around me and even the other elves who stopped to watch the exchange cower against it. Dobby does stop, his arms going lax in mine with terror skating across his eyes, which I try to ignore even as the bile of guilt begin to bubble up the inside of my throat. "Now. Calm down and tell me what the matter is."

His body deflates and my grip on his wrists raises them high above his head, the only thing preventing him from crashing down to the floor. "Harry Potter has ordered Dobby to never try and save his life again."

That does make this rather simple to sort out, even if I file away this information to chastise Harry for it later, that particular list is getting rather long this evening. "Then I revoke it." That certainly gets his attention. "Here and now I revoke that order. Then I ask, beg and plead, for you to deliver this message."

"Thank you." With a loud snap of his fingers he is gone, his powerful magic pulling him from my grasp as he disappears into nothingness before me.

Slowly I cast my eyes around the remainder of the castles elves. Most of them with items still in their hands that they had been cleaning or reorganising. All of them looking at me and it's only when I breath the words. "Carry on." That movement resumes.

From my kneeling position it doesn't take much to slide to the floor. Pulling my knees closer to my chest and for the first time really ponder exactly what is going on around me. I may not be able to see it but my friends, my partner are all in tremendous danger and even though it isn't true it feels as though I am doing nothing to ease that suffering. All I can really do is get a message to one man and trust him to sort out this mess, something I'd much rather do myself.

I feel my look turn sour, irritated in my own self-pity before clambering back to my feet, rolling around my willow back from one side of my mouth to the other. Setting my shoulders ridged I force myself back out of the kitchens. There may be nothing further I can do to directly influence whatever is going on at the ministry but I'll be dammed if I allow myself to sit here and do nothing.

The hallways are empty, unnervingly so. With just the few snippets of information I have heard I would have come to expect some life around the castle. Draco's band of loyal followers scouring the halls for whatever Hermione and the others could have been talking about, enticing enough to bring them out to play but vague enough to keep them chasing their tails for hours.

My hand scrubs harshly at my face trying to push back the fatigue brought on by not only a very active evening but also the lack of both food and sleep. It could be dulling my senses enough to be hide the wondering members of the Inquisitorial Squad from my sight. Which is a disturbing thought, to say the least, one that draws caution from me, keeping me close to the walls and hiding deep in the shadows.

Right up until the moment that Nancy comes wondering around the corner. Swaggering.

For the second time tonight she manages to meet up with me, finding me with little effort. Completely ignoring the narrowing of my eyes as I try to puzzle out exactly how she can manage such a feet in a building as vast as Hogwarts. Instead she silently tosses my wand between us.

My hand snatches it from the air on pure instinct but the contact is profound. The first time I held my wand in my hand had been enough to steal my breath. Which is nothing compared to the feeling of security that washes over me the moment my skin encloses around the shaft.

The feeling, this sensation along with the exhaustion is my only expiation for not having noticed the presence of a third party. Not until I raise my gaze to take in the site of Nancy's triumphant smirk.

One hand presses firmly against her chest, sweeping out in an arch before me to throw her non-to gently down to the floor. Any spell I chose I will need to step into, throw the power of my movement behind it but I don't even get so far as to chose which spell to hurtle down the corridor. My vision fills with bright red and amber before I am far to hot within my own skin.

Already falling, collapsing down onto the floor.

I can smell it, it precedes the pain, drowns it right to the back of my mind. The acrid smell of sizzling, human fat and singed hair, so close to my sensitive nostrils that it practically burns. Churns my stomach to such an extend that has anything been inside of it I might have brought it up with the feeling.

As my back strikes off the hollow floor my hand is already extended, firing off the most debilitating spell I can think off, the blurring of my vision and my erratic breathing enough to fire the spell off wide, striking off the tip of a shoulder rather than in my assailants chest as I would have preferred. It has to be enough that he goes down and stays down.

My extended arms spasms, wood clattering against wood as I drop my wand from my grasp, closely followed by the entire limb that I lack the strength to keep aloft. I may have lost consciousness for a moment because it feels like I barely blinked and there is and hand around my chin, turning my nose away from the pungent smell of my own scorched flesh. "Jesus Desay, you don't do thing by half, do you?"

Drawing enough breath to speak only provokes my lungs to contract in a disconcerting manner. Forcing me to cough, it is at the very least some indication that I am still alive.

"Alright, hospital wing and no arguments." I recognise Nancy's voice a moment before I feet her hands closeting around my one good arm. Her wand appears from nowhere and she points it down my body.

It doesn't matter if she is trying to lift me or heal me. I cannot allow either. My fingers grip firmly into the lose knot of her tie, halting all of her motions when I begin to twist it. A clear threat that I mean to cut off her windpipe. "No." I try to say but somehow make it sound somewhere between the beginnings of a coughing fit and a low growl.

"Jamie." It's not that she uses this nickname to address me that makes me snap to attention, it's that I can't hear a single tone of mocking in her voice when she does. "Burns are nasty. This could kill you." It accrues to me, quite abruptly that this is a worry to her. I understand why, her position does become quite jaded were I to die here in the hallway, without getting her out of the deceitful web of Dark Magic. Yet even then I had not ever expected her to sound quite to sincere. "I'm taking you to the hospital wing."

"You're taking me outside." I manage to grunt from between barely responsive lips. I can feel the sun rise, it's already clambering across the sky, slow and methodical but more than enough for me to place myself under it's healing rays. I'm aware of the repercussions of letting this particular student in on such a closely kept secret but I find myself in far too much pain to care. My instinct of self preservation much more interested in the immediate threat I find myself in. She opens her mouth to protest and I find myself twisting my wrist into an unnatural angle in order to tighten both collar and tie around her throat. "Outside." In no way could that single word be interpreted as anything but a command.

She grits her teeth and I can almost feel the way she despises trading one superior for another, yet she doesn't disappoint. Gritting out the word: "Fine." In such a low hiss that it makes me think of a viper striking out to ensnare it's pray. Her movements cease in all gentleness, tugging me from the ground with such force and jerkiness that I find myself screaming out my anguish along the long dim hallways. The sound echoing back to my ears long after I have found my shaky feet and traded the cries for pitiful whimpers. "At least now I know you actually feel pain." I hear Nancy mutter in such a low tone that I might almost think she had not intended me to hear.

It makes me send a seething look in her direction none the less, which is promptly ignored in favour of pulling my arm tightly around her shoulders and literally lifting one side of my body to force me into a walk before I feel completely ready to do so.

Her haste is painful to say the least but not without appreciation. It could have taken any time between seconds and an eternally before I find the open air filling my lungs. Yet frustratingly still trapped in the showed of the castle. I suppose an east-facing doorway might have been a little too specific to ask for. "In the sunlight." I manage to grunt and my feet feel so heavy that they might as well be stuck to the floor.

"Is this really the time to work on your tan?" I spits, sarcastically but still shakes her head and moves to do my bidding.

The effect of the rays of light is so instantiations that I gather my strength enough to stand before even tumbling to the floor, replacing the pain and even the smell doesn't feel quite so oppressive even if it does still cling to my clothing, the material that had fused to my skin with the heat falling away to rest lightly over my shoulder. The small cuts and abrasions from my tumble through the forest following suit, even my ankle feels as though it had never been injured and I am able to press my full weight against it.

Nancy is shocked. I can hear it; I'd more that expected it. The effects of the celestial light are more that a little mind-boggling. A slight turn of my head and I catch her wide-open eyes, staring at me in sheer disbelief. "Not a word Ivybridge." The words, the gravely tone of my throat, even the sharp look I can feel in my eyes. All of it feels like a single murderous threat.


	51. Chapter 51: The God's Good Graces

Chapter 51

After that the day progresses, with such agonising slowness that it's a wonder I don't pull hair from my own scalp in sheer frustration. Nancy left me to my solitude, handing me the key to my room in a state of fear and a calculating look in her eye that only left me feeling more nervous. So the whole morning I spend in a mass of distress and pent up energy. Checking my watch to see that barely any time had passed only to stand from the thin mattress, walk to the other side of my door and realise that if I leave, go looking for answers the very people who might be able to furnish me with them will not be able to find me. So I am forced to turn around and go back to that very same spot. Then start all over again.

It's midday before anyone ventures down to my small portion of the castle and I'm more than a little surprised to see Neville Longbottom, of all people, standing before me when I leave the room to investigate the patter of feet drawing near.

At the site of me he immediately looks nervous. Drawing further into himself than I would have thought possible. Still it does show a very effective survival instinct. Begin in a perpetual state of worry over Hermione's well-being and how Nancy will use the information I had been forced to give her, doing absolutely nothing to sweeten my mood in any way. If nothing else the almost constant hammering in my chest and the dryness in my throat is enough to push my mood from murderous to downright sadistic. "What is it?" I snap at the boy, getting some sick pleasure from seeing him flinch just from the tone of my voice.

"I urm… err." The stutter is not endearing me to him and I feel my tongue curl visibly around my front teeth, titling my head to the side. Any Slytherin might see the gleam in my eye and interpret it correctly enough to make them back very slowly away. Not this boy, either totally blind to it or brave to the point of idiocy. "It's err. It's Hermione."

With that single word he has every single iota of my attention. I'm in his personal space and towering over him. My height is intimidating at the best of times but if he slouches any more he might just hit the floor, so the effect is doubled. "What about Hermione?"

"She's…" He pauses and I can feel the anger bubbling up along my throat. Much more delay and it will test the resolve of my temper. Not even I wish to see what will happen should it break. "She's in the hospital wing…" I don't move I don't even breathe but still he flinches, stepping backwards and away from me as much as his gate with allow. "She's awake, she's asking for you."

It's the stench of his fear, the cower of his stance that finally makes me decide that he is brave not ignorant. Although I'm not quite certain exactly which would be preferable. Both are a form of stupidity in my book. When my foot presses forward I'm already so close to the trembling mass of flesh that it presses between his feet, my body soon follows but never connects as his instincts take over, forcing a retreat. "This is the first I've heard of any injuries."

His gaze drops instantly, resting on the twisting of his fingers around each other. "We were all pretty beat up." The scent of his fear is thick and rich in the air. "We didn't think…"

"No." I cut in: my voice deceptively low, little more than a murmur but still with enough weight behind it to make Neville whimper. "None of you ever just stop and think." I have to close my eyes and grit my teeth so tightly that I can almost feel my jaw creak, just so I don't reach out and wrap my hands around his trembling throat. Or worse go for my wand. A good anguish filled scream would do wonders for my current mood but I still have enough presence of mind to see exactly where that course of action would lead. After managing to control the blaze of my temper I lightly touch my thumb and forefingers to my head, closing my eyes against the murderous thoughts that spring to the forefront of my mind to tempt me. I even back up half a step, give the boy some room. "What happened?"

With his personal space now back under his control he seams to stand up a little straighter, gaining a few inches of height. He shrugs his shoulders in a nonchalant way but still keeps his gaze firmly fixed to the floor. "It was a trap, there were death eaters. Then the Headmaster showed up. I don't really remember much else."

"How very convenient." I feel my lip lift up in a snarl. Walking past the boy and I'm sure to make contact with his shoulder as I barge my way through.

He doesn't reply any further than curling in on himself again, scared of the very real danger that I might just strike him. More importantly he makes no attempt to follow me, which gives me a chance to try and control my irritable mood before it lands me in more trouble than it's worth.

I'm certain it's not just me that's stoking the fires of the rage in the pit of my belly. I confess that I am a large portion of it. Too many things going round and round in my mind; none of them ending in any way that benefits me. Rage, much like calm is a by-product of fear, of that I'm certain but there is more than that at work here.

The moon is a looming threat above my head. I know it affects me, long before it rises in the sky and turns my world inside out. I can practically feel the wolf stomping around inside of my chest and I've barely even managed to suppress my animalistic growls by the time I touch the handle and press into the Hospital wing.

When I enter she is turned way from me, her hand held between both of Ron's. They are both chuckling over something or other that I have no interest in, only having eyes for the woman prone on the bed. Casting my sights over every inch of visible flesh, looking for the imperfection that must be there but it's not on her body. Not any more. The remaining traces are only noticeable should you pay attention to the ten or so potions lined up on the bedside table and the implications of that makes my mouth run dry.

"Hey." She says in a slow fatigued voice, her weak fingers reaching out to clutch at the limp ones at my side. "Are you okay?" Her worry for me is touching even if it is misplaced.

Consciously I reach out to pick a clear bottle from the horde close to her head, turning it around to read the label, while without any thought whatsoever, twisting my wrist around so she can thread her fingers through mine in a mutually comforting contact. "I'm fine." It's the only truthful answer I can give her. I took a short walk in the summer sun; physically I am in good health. Everything else I'm sure we'll find time to discuss privately. A quick look over the worried lines around her eyes is enough to tell me that I will not need to explain my evasiveness. In as gentle a way as I possibly can I lift my chin at the boy seated on the other side of the bed gathering his attention. "Can we have a moment?"

"Sure." He says instantly rolling his shoulders in a sudden burst of awkwardness. Clearing his throat and leavening the room with more haste and tact than I would have given him credit for.

The bottle in my hands continues to hold a lot of my attention, even as I turn on the ball of my foot in order to take a perch on the side of her bed, without releasing the loose clasp of our fingers. "Extract of Neveroot." I read aloud and as I look up she finds something on the other side of the room much more interesting than this conversation. Picking another label in my line of sight at random does nothing to either alleviate her frustration or my growing panic. "Highlord Vestment. Hermione do you know what these things are for?"

Her eyes are blazing when they meet with mine. "Do you?"

My teeth grit together as I lean forward to gently put the clear bottle back where I plucked it from. "Yes but that's hardly the point." The effects of my long lasting aggravation are still evident not only within my unwavering posture but also the tone of my voice and I have to literally bite the tip of my tongue to prevent any further scathing words from escaping because of it. "Why do you all have to be so reckless?"

Her fingers close tighter around mine and her eyebrows bunch together in a look at borders on sadness. "Please don't be angry with me." I feel my throat close up around any reassurance that at least most of my anger and frustration is directed elsewhere. It leaves me with no option but to remain perfectly still and silent, trying to convince my body that I am still able to breathe around it. Slowly her eyes close and she lets out a deep sigh, her breath catching in an almost unperceivable way, trying desperately to hide the pain from my eyes. "Jamie. I'm tiered and I really don't want to fight with you about this."

"There are things I want to say." I begin slowly watching her lips close into a thin line and her throat pull tight as she swallows thickly. "But they can wait." At least until she is recovered from her injuries and my head doesn't feel quite so foggy.

Her shoulders slump deeper into the fluffy pillow in relief and the small smile that slowly begins to spread across her face should be of comfort. However the sight of it is beginning to raise the temperature on my ire. "Thank you."

Even though she will be unable to see it, I stiffly nod to show I had heard her thanks. It's only when I press a sharp breath out through my nostrils that her heavy eyelids open. I'm almost certain she can see my tongue held between my teeth from the look that crosses over her face. The open disagreement is looming on the horizon; we can both see the storm clouds rolling in, neither commenting. A heavy presence hanging in the space between us and I am forced to hastily turn away before my jaw drops unleashing all of this openness and honesty that this woman has been searching for within me. At times like this I almost long for my long days of isolation, long before my hard mask of indifference began to crack.

So I find myself turning away from one set of eyes that I cannot meet and immediately finding another. Just as brown but so sharp, filled to the brim with hate. Umbridge has taken up residence in a bed across the room from Hermione. That in itself would be reason enough for me to lose sleep over but it's that look in her eye. The way she has the covers pulled up and bunched tightly to her neck, surrounding herself in a subconscious cocoon of safety. The smell is barely perceivable, even to me but she is so clearly scared. If her memories of last night had been removed she would have no reason to be and that thought is enough for my heart to painfully skip a beat before falling back into a heavy, erratic rhythm high in my throat.

I only actually realise that I am back of my feet when Hermione tugs on my fingers in protest. "What's the matter?"

I take just a fraction of a second to long to answer her. Not only do I have to remove that look the older woman is throwing in my direction from my mind's eyes but I also have to pull a genuine feeling smile across my face. An expression, that directly contradicts the sombre mood of our previous discussion, so it's of little wonder when she sees right through the blatant lie I force past my teeth. "Nothing."

Her expression doesn't change, nothing beyond a slow blink in my direction, a fierce battle raging behind her eyes to keep from calling me out and demanding the truth. Instead she shuffles her shoulders so she has a broader view around my frame. She catches sight of the Undersecretary and both of her eyebrows rise in question as she casts her gaze back up at me.

All I can offer her is a tight-lipped smile. One that is not trying to deceive as it had previously. Rather acknowledging that I have been caught in a mistruth but unable to offer further explanation at this moment in time. My hand tightens around hers for a moment and when I speak my voice is barely above a whisper. "I should let you rest."

She sinks heavily back into the pillow and shakes her head very subtly at me. "Which has nothing to do with something that just came up."

"More like something that has come back around." The comment does nothing but confuse her further. "I'll explain later." With some minor editing of the less than refined moments that Umbridge may be remembering of yesterday evening. I still have the presence of mind to press my lips to Hermione's temple, my movements are clearly distracted I'll admit and after telling her to get some rest I leave the room, keeping as far from Umbridge as physically possible. Trying to convince myself that the burning I can feel prickling along the side of my neck has nothing to do with those unblinking eyes following me until the very second I close the door behind me.

As soon as I am alone, my hands are at my face before I can stop them. A sinking feeling filling my stomach to such an extent that I am half expecting to fall to the floor with its weight. My anger all but forgotten in the face of such raw and unadulterated panic. Ammy remaining suspiciously quiet, even though I can feel her squirming behind my eyes but I cannot find the energy to address her discomfort, far to preoccupied with my own.

The clatter of carefree laughter at the end off the hall is enough to knock me out of my stupor and with a roll of my shoulders I am able to take on a stance that could almost be mistaken for impassive. Before making my down into the bowls of the castle in the search of the man I trusted to remove this problem before it had really had chance to present itself.

~X~

The dungeons are quiet, the potions classroom even quieter. It's a strange sensation, to enter that room and have no one on the other side of the door. Professor Snape always seeming to be in his domain, regardless of the hour. With halting footsteps I manage to descend half way into the room before a voice stops all of my muscles dead. "We're in here Miss Desay." The word that sticks in my senses is 'we'. I had hoped that I would only need to deal with Potions Master but when I have gathered the courage to continue, crossed the room to his adjoining office I am hardly surprised to see Nancy Ivybridge seated at the small desk opposite the man. He bridges his hands over the tabletop and settles his black penetrating gaze in my direction. "Close the door."

My eyes meet Nancy's for just a moment and she lifts her head in acknowledgement, there's a hard set to her jaw and a hint of fear shining in her eyes. Clearly she has already been spilling my secrets. "Is this a private party?" I slide my eyes away from my peer, vowing some sort of foul vengeance as I do. Instead meeting Snape's eyes, refusing to back down from those dark depths.

"Not at all." His half smile beneath this crooked nose looks so out of place that it makes me want to physically remove it from my sight. "Please, sit down." He goes as far as to extend an open hand to the aforementioned seat, which looks to have been placed in the room for nothing but my convenience.

"I'd rather stand." I respond, folding my hands together behind my back. In honesty I'd rather run. Turn, flee as fast as my legs will carry me and never look back. Propriety and my own stubborn pride keep me rooted to the spot but under the weight of their combined, knowing gazes. It's a physical effort to keep my back from buckling under the pressure.

"As you wish." His fingers interlace once more and he tilts his head, lapsing into a calculated silence. I cannot feel that he is probing my mind, having learned his lesson but his eyes are enough to make my feel uncomfortable. "It is quite fortunate that you're here."

"I didn't have much choice." I retort. "How much does Umbridge remember?"

"Every second." He replies without a moment's hesitation, I can feel my face drop and my knees begin to shake. "Relax, nothing but fragmented memories and not in any coherent order." His hands press into the arms of his chair, lifting him from the seat and setting my entire body on edge to see where his movements take him. Desperate to draw my wand and halt any violence before it can even truly begin. With no evidence of any weapon, his hands land flat on the table, leaning far over it so he can catch my eye. "She has no idea what she saw last night. If anything she will assume she is losing her mind and never speak of it again. Which might also have been true had I left the memory in tact." It's at this point that I can no longer meet his stare, choosing to direct my sights high over his shoulder to the pickled fatuous of a mermaid but I can feel the burn of his gaze on me the entire time. "The vestal to a deity. Not a common occurrence."

I can feel the muscles along my neck tighten at the mention that there might have been others like me. Not once have I come across any reference to anything resembling what I have been through the past months. That is not to say that Hogwarts library is the only source of information. The book of prayers and blessings I still have in my possession enough testament that Snape has access to old ways of magic that until recently I had only dreamed of. "How many know?"

The Potions Master declines to answer right away, studying me for a long moment before turning from away to open a glass cabinet propped up against the opposite wall of the small box room. "As far as I am aware only the people in this room." Behind his back I manage to catch Nancy's eye and very subtly she shakes her head. I'm not entirely certain what she is referring to but it is my hope that they had been discussing the memory Snape had forced into pieces within Umbridge. Not my miraculous recovery out in the castle grounds this morning. Snape turns on the spot, one hand wrapped around a deep green bottle, the other turning the cork until it is pulled from it's tight confines. "However I am certain I can think of at least one other."

Without thinking I clear my throat, neither confirming nor denying Hermione's knowledge of this particular trait. Everyone knows, there's no need to waste my breath. "What happens now?"

"That entirely depends on you." The cork pulls free from the neck of the bottle with a resounding pop and all at once I have a full goblet set in front of me. Nancy with another grasped in her hand. "We are at a very unique position. Miss Ivybridge and I. At a crossroads if you will, with two paths to follow. Now I will ask you again. Exactly whom do you fight for?"

The sense of being backed firmly into a corner settles across my spine. It's one of those sensations I know well, one of the few that truly cause me genuine terror and there is only one action my mind will allow me to take when faced with the cold sweat of fear. So I swallow up all the aggression the feeling provokes within me, I even feel my shoulder dip ever so slightly in an arrogant stance. "So if I don't choose the right side. The side you want me to. I end up being pulled to pieces by some ministry researcher, who would love nothing more than to see just how my insides work."

My calm outburst is enough for him to pause in his action of descending back down into his seat and for just a moment I believe I may have rendered his speechless. "If you consider that to be true, I'm afraid you have gravely misinterpreted my intentions."

"I think what the Professor means to say…" Nancy begins with her first contribution to the discussion. She licks her lips in hesitation and only after he has singled with a small bow of his head does she turn her head and find my ice blue eyes blazing down at her. "Is that, if you point the direction we'll follow it."

I feel myself snort a humourless laugh before touching my nose with the crock of a finger, just to give myself a physical grounding point. "You'd follow the path of a werewolf?"

"No, not normally." She says quietly, placing her untouched drink down on the desk and turning more fully towards me. "But you're not exactly a normal werewolf, now are you?" Our eyes lock, hers stubbornly refusing to back down from the look of steel I can feel reflected in mine. "A god on the other hand, that I can follow."

"I'm not a god." Is my immediate response, with my arms coming up sharply to fold over my chest. "Gods are born, not made."

"That is very true." The quiet professor agrees his fingers interlaced across his lap. "You cannot be a god but you are important enough for them to take a direct interest in you." He is quiet for a moment and I let the silence continue, slowly coming to terms with the fact that this conversation isn't about bargains and blackmail. This is about self-preservation. "Mortals the world over look to the heavens every day for some kind of sign, some direction in their life. I have never been one of those people, and yet one has landed in my lap. One that walks and talks and breaths. That's something any man should take note of."

'He believes you will win this war.' Ammy speaks up within my mind and I can feel my gaze drop to listen to her, even if I cannot bring myself to respond. 'That is not our purpose.' She sounds almost confused by this revelation. That this conclusion is the first place his mind would go. I hasten to add that it is exactly where mine went before I begin to realise that being chosen in this way may not necessarily be to my advantage. My purpose, as she so eloquently puts it, is to unwittingly save lives and ensure there is something left in the aftermath of a wizarding war to worship her kind. It took me many weeks and many long conversations with her to realise that the lives I save don't necessarily need to be the ones that I wish to, nor even my own for that matter. Only that there is some form of life remaining.

The side I chose might loose, yes it would be based on some decision I am likely to make, that much might as well be set in stone, otherwise why chose to keep me around in the first place but it is impossible to determine if my direct input will be advantageous or not to whatever side I fight for.

However, right at this very moment it's to my benefit that I allow them to think this way. Friends and allies are one of the very fundamental things I am lacking in for my decisions to have any sort of impact on world affairs. So to let them believe that I can lead them blinking out into the light on the other side of this conflict might just ender me enough to gain at least two more. One of which is a highly renowned and extremely talented wizard. Even if his skill in memory charms holds a lot of be desired.

"You asked me that question several months ago professor." I begin after a lengthy enough pause to give the impression that I am thinking about my response. "The answer has not changed in that time."

He lets out a low hum of contemplation. "If you only fight for yourself, your side is dwindling in numbers."

"I'm not special in that regard Sir." I respond. He remembers my admission all those months ago but my circumstances have changed and so too have my priorities. "I'm just like everybody else. I fight for the things that I care about. Not for what people tell me I should." No I spend far too many years under than tyrannical regime and I refuse to be put into that situation again.

"Well at least that settles it." Nancy says with a small laugh laced within her voice. "It's hardly likely you're going to fight against Hermione. Is it?"

I could be wrong but I'm almost certain I see Snape's shoulders sag ever so slightly with resounding relief at this revelation.


	52. Chapter 52: Last Train Home

Chapter 52

"Careful Hermione." I feel myself saying for what must be the hundredth time in just two short weeks. At least on this occasion I am close enough and quick enough to reach an arm around her waist. Pulling her tightly against my chest to prevent her falling sideways against the hard desk. My other arm comes up to wrap securely around her shoulders when I feel her beginning to slump with exhaustion. The movement does prompt the few books she had been carrying, to clatter to the floor but other than that there are no casualties this time. "That could have been unfortunate."

"Again." She manages to murmur against my chest. Hands clutched in my clothing and I can feel them shuddering with every breath she takes. "Thank you."

With one arm tightening around her I am able to extract the other and pull out the chair, before gently guiding her into it. "Another dizzy spell?" She lands heavily in the seat letting her fingers slowly slide down my arms in a loose grip. I'm so distracted by the movement that I almost miss the slow nod of her head. "You're over doing it again."

Her long sigh is partially muffed as she brings up both hands to push the tips of her fingers into her eyes. "I should be better by now." She says in a somewhat frustrated tone.

My grip closes around the legs of my trousers to pull them skyward before stooping down into a crouch so I can look up at her pale face. "It was quite a nasty curse." I gently rest one of my palms against her covered knee to warn her, before the other runs from her temple over her ear to her crown. She leans into the soft contact, another sigh passing between her lips, displaying her mild pain at the near constant headaches she has been suffering from. "Just give it some time, you should be fine."

Her hands slide down her face and her eyelids look heavy when she pries them open, a tinge of red surrounding her deep irises that I resent having to become accustomed to as of late. "You said that two weeks ago."

"I did." I concede. Of all the people to lack such patience I would never have expected it of my partner in this way, although, it's not as if I have ever been in close proximity to her whenever she has been feeling unwell for extended periods of time before now. "We both know you've been getting better." The statement doesn't make her look any more impressed with the situation. "You can't expect to be running around again over night."

"Yes, yes I can." She is quick to contradict me. "I live in a world of magic and wonders but no one can brew me a potion to make me feel more coordinated."

I wait for a single beat of her heart, so she has enough time to continue to vent the agitation. When I hear nothing but her throat contracting in an audible swallow I speak in a very low, very calm voice. "Ordinarily, you'd be right."

She huffs in what I presume to be either embarrassment or frustration a look of utter defeat clouding her features. Her eyes even roll in their sockets as she sees exactly where this line of conversation could go. "Yes, I know. If I hadn't gone off on an insane adventure with Harry none of this would have happened. You don't have to say it again."

My hands immediately leave her body. That particular discussion had turned rather heated. Her immense bravery and loyalty clashing horns with my overwhelming survival instinct that somehow extends to the people I hold most dear. There were some things that I probably shouldn't have said, or at the very least been able to word differently. I'm still discovering exactly which comments burned her the deepest.

One of my elbows lands on my thigh, my finger gently passing back and forth against my tight lips as I look up at her and she looks down at me, the silence gradually slipping beyond uncomfortable into the realms of overbearing. It's with a heavy sigh that I uncharacteristically break it, dropping my hand down to cross over my other arm. "Harry will always have adventures and people will always follow him." My jaw clenches for a moment and the shiver than runs up my spine forces me to drop my sights to the floor before she can see the dread reflected in my eyes. I even push against my bent legs to be able to stand and leave her personal space. Choosing instead to retrieve the books that have scattered across the carpet. "One day I may make peace with the fact that it always has to be you."

"One day." I can feel her gaze on the back of my head and I can hear the regret in her voice but she'll never change. The friendship between the three is so resilient, forged on moments between life and death. It's completely unbreachable, there is no way that I can put myself into the bond, no way to influence it or guide it in any direction. So where Harry and Ron are concerned I'm blind, helpless. That's what scares me the most. "You don't have to do that." She comments, changing the subject and holding her hand out to be in a gesture for me to stop gathering the texts covering the carpet.

I smile, unseen but still continue to close the books and arrange them into a pile. "It's not an obligation Hermione. I want to." When I stand with the heavy tombs in hand my shoulder rolls of it's own violation, giving a twinge against the exertion, the protest only stopping when I deposit the load down into her trunk. "How do you fit everything in here?"

"Hours of Tetris." She responds in a tone of voice that would suggest she is joking in some fashion but it feels to me that we have slipped into another language entirely. So when I turn my head to send a baffled look over my shoulder she quickly lapses into giggles. "Nothing." Even the shooting pains along her side that she reaches up to sooth aren't enough to take the mirth from her voice. The look I send her way continues but only appears to make her laugh harder at my expense. "It's a muggle thing, I'm sure I'll show you one day. Besides it's not as if all of us can just go out and buy a trunk with an undetectable extending charm."

I'm back on my feet once more, leaning over her to reach for more books to pack away. "No one can, not anymore. It's just not exceptionally difficult to cast."

"No?" Her eyes follow me around the room and by the colour of her cheeks she looks to be recovering much quicker this time. "That's odd because I couldn't find any reference to it in the library."

"No you wouldn't." Very quickly I have to find a distraction, dropping my eyes to the spine of the books as I pile one on top of the others but at no point seeing the words. "Technically it's dark magic. They took it off the curriculum a while back."

"Why?" the curiosity in her voice negates any of my fears that she would find this information disturbing enough for me to cast my eyes over her once more. "It's harmless."

"The spell itself is." I begin slowly watching and waiting for some form of reaction. If anything she is mealy curious and I am long past thinking that her image of me is anything resembling pure, so I forge ahead. "Being undetectable it's easy to abuse the spell." Without any further fear of reproach I straighten my legs and continue my task. Having cleared the desk of her reading material I find my self at her chest of draws, pulling out her neatly folded cloths and piling them in my arms. "There was a Death Eater caught, not that long ago. I think his name might have been Berkley." I stop for a moment, searching my memory for the name that feels like it is right on the tip of my tongue. "Or Barnsley. It doesn't really matter. The point is they found he was carrying a collection of his victim's index fingers around in a matchbox."

"You're kidding." Her face has dropped and that is exactly the reaction I had been dreading. "What am I saying, of course you're not." There is a short pause and that shocked look on her face is directed at the floor not at me so I carry on about the room, as though nothing is amiss. "I wouldn't even think to use a spell like that."

"Typically most Death Eaters and dark wizards have a lot of secrets, concealment charms are useful when you're trying to keep them. So the ministry took most of them off the prospectus. Particularly those they had no way of being able to identify." I say closing the lid on her trunk and sweeping my eyes around the small barren room one more time for anything I may have missed. When I have nowhere else I can possibly look, without raising suspicion I rest them back on Hermione, who has spent the considerable silence watching me. Waiting to see if I might continue in a direction that might be more personal, something that I have no intention of doing at the moment. "I think that's everything."

She takes a deep breath and seems to have to shake herself out of her stupor, sensing the deflection but not brining it up in any way. "Yes. How did you mange that so fast without magic?" She pauses only long enough to see my shoulders pull into a lethargic shrug. "You do realise that I'm going to ask you to help pack every year, don't you?"

At the very least it does give some indication that I will still be welcome in this room for years to come. "I think I can live with that."

~X~

I've never been one for trains. It's always so slow, hours and hours cooped up in a small space, usually surrounded by people that I could barely wait to be away from. Only to spend six weeks in a household that scared or sometimes even starved me half to death. It was very difficult to decide exactly which was the lesser of those two evils. The train ride back to Kings Cross station was always the one joining factor between the two states of my existence, possibly the worst time of the year for me.

This year is different. On so many levels it's difficult to see them all, even from the epicentre. All those years that I would much have preferred to floo home and have the agonising journey over and done with in a heart beat are but a fuzzy memory. In its wake there are these people surrounding me, all in various states of relaxation.

Hermione, leaning against my side in a very easy embrace shifting every now and then, whenever she comes across something in the Daily Prophet. Ron and Harry berating each other over game after game of wizard's chess. Ginny using every other remark as an excuse to make her elder brothers ears turn red in either anger or embarrassment over her copy of the Quibbler of all things. Even Neville's presence doesn't grate against my nerves, not that I know the boy well enough but the way he is stroking the plant placed carefully on his lap, should resemble something unsettling. Somehow he manages to make the adoring interaction with the plant endearing.

I almost don't want it to end. I never want to stop watching these people interact with each other. There are no hidden meanings to anything they say. No awkward silences as one waits for the other to respond first. No serious threats of bodily harm or death, beyond the odd profanity from one of the Weasley siblings, usually towards each other. It's all just so easy, so carefree that it is indeed a pleasure to watch.

The only thing that stops me from attempting to freeze this moment in time so I might enjoy it forever, is the thought that at the end of this pleasant journey there's no tyrant waiting for me. Just my elder brother with his stupid jokes and his warm loving family, where I can accept his kindness at face value without looking for the source of my own terror just beneath the thin surface.

I more feel than hear Hermione's deep sigh, her hand reaching out to cover my knee and her paper folds haphazardly on her lap. "You're quiet." She all but whispers and had my senses not been so sensitive I might not have heard her at all.

"Just thinking." I reply casually watching Ron move his rook into position and it looks as though he may have won the game again.

She takes the time to fold her paper neatly and rest it on the seat close to her thigh, giving me her undivided attention. "What about?"

"Just how things have changed."

"You mean how you've changed?" That particular sentence has my gaze drawn to hers in less than the blink of an eye.

My forehead creases into a frown. "I haven't changed." I contradict but I can feel the bitter taste against my tongue that is always provoked when I lie to her unintentionally. Where I concede that my attitude and perception of the world around me has changed, dramatically in certain regards, I find it hard to believe that this extends into my physical presence. Or for that matter how I interact with those around me. If anything in recent weeks I have reverted back to many of my old ways, since Hermione might as well have given me permission that afternoon with Nancy.

"You have." She insists. "In so many subtly ways."

Clearly my memory of the school year differs from hers. "For example?"

When she answers it's immediate. No hesitation, not even in the tone of her voice. "Just a moment ago you told me what you were thinking about." She pauses and lets a smile pull across her face. "And we didn't even have to fight about it." Her face then drops into a look of shock, which quickly melts into quiet laughter that I have no choice but to imitate.

"You're also not as scary as you used to be." Ginny pipes up from the other side of the carriage. Her magazine pulled down so I can see most of her face over the top of the pages.

I don't exactly appreciate the thought that I am being ganged up on by these two. Again. "So Dean Thomas." I shoot right back. "Isn't he a bit pedestrian for you."

When the glossy pages she had been holding land in her lap forgotten, I might as well concede that she has just accepted the challenge. One that I'm pretty certain I hadn't meant it issue. "Changing the subject is against the rules."

"There are rules now?" I ask with confusion pulling a frown across my face.

"There are always rules." She responds flapping one hand near her face in a dismissive gesture. "I just don't always tell you what they are."

My mouth opens to respond and I'm so invested in this conversation that I feel myself lean forward ever so slightly, forcing Hermione to sit up straighter in her seat to avoid being caught in the line of fire. Unfortunately my witty retort is intercepted as Neville quietly asks: "You don't think she's scary?"

"I never said that." Ginny says turning towards the boy but still using her flailing hands to indicate me. "She is fucking terrifying."

"Ginny." Hermione says in a low voice of reprimand.

The redhead all but ignores her and continues. "It's just not as bad as it used to be."

"And you don't have that…" Ron pipes up, never taking his eyes away from the game with Harry so he cannot hope to see the scathing look I send in his direction. "Attitude all the time. You know, the really arrogant one."

"Now wait just a minuet." My voice sounds scandalised because it is categorical that I am now being ganged up on. By the very people who, until recently I had contemplated freezing this moment for eternity with. Suddenly rethinking that course of action.

"And you actually take part in conversation now a days." Harry finally pipes up, having lost interest in the battling pieces in favour of sending a grin in my direction, which shows absolutely no sign of wavering when Ron moves his knight to trample his queen. This, right here, must be what Tartarus feels like. "Instead of sitting there quietly, judging everyone."

"I wasn't judging." I counteract without thinking about it.

Ginny leans forward in her seat, her frown and smile locked in a furious battle to be the dominant expression on her face. "Are you shitting me?"

"Ginny!" Hermione once more enters the fray to chastise the younger girl for her language. Her voice losing it's hard tone, instead trying to force back her laughter. Making absolutely no effort to come to my rescue I hasten to point out.

I try to come up with some collection of words to defend myself because it's true. I have judged them. Quietly, behind closed doors and found them lacking. It never occurred to me that they paid enough attention to even notice the thought flittering across my face. Let alone making a silent pact not to speak of it, until right now apparently. "Well…" I begin and only when the word passes between my lips do I realise that I have no way of finishing that sentence.

Somehow, being invaded by a goddess while simultaneously contracted what is possibly the most socially debilitating disease in the magical world has put me ahead when it comes to luck because I am saved by a quiet tapping against the glass to the carriage.

Without waiting for a response Nancy slides open the door and pushes only her head between the space it affords. Trying to invade the conversation without acutely entering the cart.

All laughter and comments at my expense stop as each pair of eyes turn towards the intruder. Each one more confused than the last, making my fellow Slytherin more than just a little uncomfortable. She clears her throat quickly and meets my eye. "Can I have a word?"

Had it been Hades himself coming to lead me down into the murky underworld, I'm sure in this moment I would have followed him. "Oh, by the gods yes." I say already awkwardly standing in the small space and having to step over several pairs of feet as I make a hasty retreat.

Ginny is far from done. "Look boys. We've got her on the run." There are some muffled titters and that short comment convinces me that I am in for much of the same treatment after this short respite. "See not quite as scary." Are the last words to be heard, before I slide the door closed.

Nancy's lips are pressed to tightly together that I wouldn't be surprised if she starts biting her lip just to suppress her giggles and she is completely unable to meet my eye. "Well that was interesting."

"For you maybe." I say

There is a long pause as I afford her time to compose herself but nothing can pull that smirk from her face as she looks through the glass divide towards my group of friends who have all fallen silent to watch intently how we interact with each other. "They don't know, do they?" I don't answer her for several moments and she uncharacteristically becomes impatient very quickly. "What you are. They don't know."

"They don't need to."

"Don't they?" Her head snaps in my direction catching and holding my eyes in hers. "'Cause from where I'm standing, I don't see that it can do you anything but good."

"They don't need to know." I repeat with a little more force behind my voice. It's difficult to explain but Nancy will interact with me because she thinks she has to. She thinks that by doing so she has already chosen the winning side, that when all this is over she'll come out on top. They stay in my company in spite of my disease not because of it. It's my first taste of true friendship and I am loath to give that up just yet. Should it come up they will know, until then it just isn't necessary.

Nancy holds both of her hands open and up in a universal sign of surrender. "They won't hear it from me."

My arms cross over my chest, clearly a defensive gesture and her eyes flick down, not only to observe it but also to broadcast to me that she has. "I take it that isn't why you're here." I begin, trying to get her back on topic so I can be done with this conversation, which is entirely too public for me to be comfortable with.

"I didn't tell him." She says, lifting a hand to vaguely gesture towards my shoulder. "About your, urm. Miraculous recovery." The words put my on edge, forcing me to glance both ways down the carriage to ensure we are alone, even though both my sense of smell and hearing had confirmed that for me anyway. "Snape doesn't know, I didn't tell him. I needed you to know that."

This particular line in the discussion prods at me in a none to pleasant way, lifting my lip in an irritated sneer. "Really, because it appeared to me that he knew quite a bit."

"Not from me." Her voice turns earnest. "Look, he seemed to think I was out in the forest with you. I just didn't bother to correct him."

That does make sense. Memories are known to merge within someone's mind when under excessive stress or when any sort of trauma is involved. Even when probed it's hard to pull them apart to see how they have melded together. It's with a deep breath that I concede this point, running my hand through my hair. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Well there are two reasons actually." She stops, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue until I raise my eyebrows in a bid to have her continue. "Firstly, I saw that look on your face. Just afterwards and I never, what to know what it meant, I never want to know what you were thinking."

I nod along with this. "And the second?"

In that moment her face changes, from that of a freighted girl straight into the calculating mind that I helped to create. It happens in an instant and had I not been looking so intently I would have missed the transformation. "I still need you to get me out of this pit that I seem to have landed in."

"So we're back to that?" I can feel the exasperation in my voice, she wants out of this tangled web of dark magic and this subtle form of blackmail is only skimming the surface of how far she's stoop to get what she wants. "These things take time."

"You've had time." Her response is clipped and imitate. All at once we are not two girls caught together in circumstances. We both know something about the other that neither of us want revelled and we'll both fight tooth and nail to make sure we get what we want because of it.

"Yes, lots of time." My demeanour changes, so does my stance, even my speech pattern. It's so easy to fall back on these old habits when provoked; it takes no more trouble or thought than shedding and donning a cloak. It probably helps that I have been doing both for just as long. "Locked away in a tiny room away from the rest of the world, with my post being intercepted and a guard at my door." I take a moment to cast my eyes along the length of her, just to drive that meaning home. "Tell me, how much do you expect me to accomplish under those restraints."

"Not a lot." She concedes but it looks as though it leaves a sour taste in her mouth to do so. "Things change, I don't see what the hold up is now."

It feels like she is insinuating that I'm not up to this task. For the moment it may be true but that doesn't mean I haven't thought about it. "There isn't one."

"No, thought not." She makes to move past me but instead leans closer. "Now we're on an even keel." She steps forward to pass me, bumping her shoulder into mine as she passes. The message ringing clear, she'll keep my secrets so long as I nullify hers. "Remember that Desay." She shoots over her shoulder without even turning around.

"I'm not likely to forget." I murmur between gritted teeth, far to low for her to be able to hear. After only having a few second to compose myself I pull once more on the siding door and enter the silent carriage. Puling a smile over my face that must look as fake as it feels, trying to negotiate my way between the series of legs and feet back to my seat.

"That didn't look like it went well." Ginny says a moment later, the first to brave breaking the silence.

"Don't know what you're talking about." I respond, searching for that joyous mood I had been so quick to leave behind. I'd take any comment they care to throw at me if only to dissolve the tension. "Nancy and I are as thick as thieves these days." Quite literally. Considering we have been forced into an uneasy truce that dictates that we must trust each other to keep both of our secrets buried.

I hope not but I may just live to regret this alliance.

~X~

It would be an understatement to say that platform 9 ¾ was crowded. Students, parents, even extended family. All mingled together beside the bright red train. Had I not specifically equipped myself for this moment I find it likely that I might just collapse to the floor clutching my skull. Even after extensively mentally preparing it's beginning to make my eyes twitch in a maddening rhythm. One day I might just get used to there overbearing senses. Although I doubt it will be any time soon.

What is left of the Weasley horde are very quickly swept up in the arms of their parents, in a moment that I would prefer not to intrude on. Passing by both Alistair Moody and Remus Lupin as I do. The former I only offer a short nod in recognition and after a long cold stare it is recurrently returned. The latter is a whole different matter. The man, to the best of my knowledge has never had a problem with eye contact so it doesn't surprise me when my gaze passes over the deep wrinkles into those pools, then I become ensnared. Something passing between both of us, I can see he feels it too by the high lift of his brow. It's a long, drawn out moment and I can feel something deep in my chest burning. Fighting and tearing at me until the moment he lowers his gaze to the floor.

I don't know what it is, all I know is that upon seeing this action my back straightens all the more. I might have had longer to analyse it if I hadn't seen Mrs Weasley pull Harry into her arms without so much as a pause, followed very closely by Hermione. For fear of excessive amount of bodily contact I go in search of my luggage and scanning the crowd when I hear my name.

Strangely its Daniel I see first, his chubby fingers waving high above everyone's head, held aloft of his father's shoulders. It could be why I lift my eyes so highly and great the youngster first. "Hey, little man. What are you doing up there?"

"Flyin'" He shouts in excitement, holding his arms out by his sides and flapping them with the vigour that I'm sure is only accessible when you are four years old.

So much so that his heals dig deeply into Dales shoulders and I watch the grimace of pain cross his face. He turns his head to send a mockingly irritated look at his son before shaking it. "He's going to need a broom soon, isn't he?"

"Probably." There's already a smile on my face, all that trust and rapport that I had built with him over that short ten days, having not degraded in any way. "Sometime before you break your neck would help."

"Very funny little sis." He says while narrowing his eyes, the whole effect is ruined however when Danny pitches to the one side in flight, almost brining both of them to the floor. Dale only takes a moment to gather his bearings and lift the boy from around his neck. "Alright that's enough flying." He ignores the high-pitched whine sent his way in a way that only a parent could. "He didn't used to be this heavy."

"He is a growing boy." As I look down I see the truth of that statement. Now he is back on his own feet it is clear to see the inches that have added to his stature.

"Don't remind me." Dale replies. "Is it too much to want him to stay this cute forever?" His face almost breaks in two with the smile that he shoots over my shoulder. "Hermione. Fancy seeing you here."

"Yes, imagine that." Hermione responses, under the firm belief that one bad joke is deserving of another. "And you must be Daniel. I've heard so much about you."

"Really?" Dales voice belays his genuine disbelief, which I can understand, if I'm completely honest with myself. Maybe my friends are right and I have changed just as much as they have come to believe. He watches Hermione's slow nod then turns shocked features to me. "Now that is impressive." I could almost swear that I can see pride in his eyes. Danny begins to tug on my brother's sleeve but for the moment he pays him no heed, wrapping his hand around his son's much smaller one. Undeterred and completely single minded he turns back to Hermione. "So when can I expect a visit?"

It's not often I see my partner speechless but every time I do I can't help but sit back and watch the entertainment before me. "I wouldn't want to impose."

"Please tell me you're joking." Dale says slowly, before realising that she is completely serious, her sense of propriety almost rivalling mine at times. "No, don't do that to me. This is a six-week holiday. She'll go stir crazy."

Had it been any earlier in the year, before I managed to let go of the notion that I could hind all of my from those around me. Or even if we were just one week closer to the full moon I might have resented that remark. As it stands I feel my arms loosely cross under my chest and mumble. "She's standing right here."

Hermione either doesn't hear me or chooses to ignore the comment, stumbling over her words a few times before subconsciously shrugging. "If you insist."

"Dad." Daniel calls, having used up all of his short attention span. "Who's that?"

"That?" His dad response pointing in her direction. "That's Hermione."

The poor boy doesn't quite know what to do with that word. His face screws up for a moment and he tries ever so hard to produce a sound close to what he has just heard. "'Mione?"

Hermione takes this graciously, beaming down at the small child. "That should be close enough."

"Oh. I see what's going on here." Ginny, who has managed to sneak up on me, hidden in the crowd, places an arm across my shoulders. Then takes the fact that I do not immediately shrug her off as a sign of encouragement. Tightening the embrace, even though she has to lean up to maintain it. "When he says it like that it's cute. When I say it, it's just retarded."

"Ginny." Hermione reprimands yet again. Honestly you would think she's get fed up of it once in a while.

"What? I didn't swear. Besides she said it first." The redheaded girl answers, hooking her thumb in my direction. Having been the hand that has been resting on my shoulder I very nearly have the appendage lodged in my eye for her trouble, if it weren't for a very quick flinch on my part. Ginny then directs all of her attention to Hermione. "We're dropping Harry home first if that's alright."

Before she can respond the boy in question also asserts himself into the group, nervously cleaning his glasses on the edge of his t-shirt. "Which is unnecessary."

"Oh come on Harry." Ron comes up behind him and I have to roll my eyes at the excited smile slithering across my brother's face. Letting him near yet more people he can embarrass me in front of is never a good idea. "You've survived another year at Hogwarts. Be a bleeding shame if those two muggles mess that up."

"Wait a minuet." I begin. "Survived?"

"Oh yeah." Ginny says, pulling me even closer to her side, testing the limits of my tolerance of it. "It's always a close call with these three." She shots the golden trio a grin before holding out her two foremost fingers of her free hand, thankfully keeping them far away from my eyes. "So far I've had two near death experiences."

"Strange. Why does that almost make me feel left out?"

Ginny shrugs. "I wouldn't worry too much. There's always next year."


End file.
